


Óneiros

by night_sentinel



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: (sorry), AU, Alternate Universe, Demon!Hannibal, M/M, No Smut, Poor Will, Slow Burn, Supernatural AU - Freeform, Supernatural Creatures AU, Werewolf!Jack, but it won't be anything worse than the show, more about Will himself than a relationship but we'll get there, tagged for violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-30
Updated: 2016-10-07
Packaged: 2018-05-17 04:46:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 19
Words: 47,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5854756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/night_sentinel/pseuds/night_sentinel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will Graham, criminal profiler for the FBI, has always had a knack for using evidence to step into the shoes of criminals. It doesn’t matter if someone is a spirit, warlock, witch, vampire, werebeast, human or any of the other creature that inhabits the world. For Will its is always too easy to get into the mind of another.<br/>But now Will’s mind is starting to make leaps that the evidence can’t explain, his dreams are building to near prophetic levels, and on top of it all he’s pretty sure he’s starting to hallucinate. Psychiatric help in the form of one Hannibal Lector, a demon, is brought in to assist in sorting through the fallout of Will’s visions, and to help find out what, exactly, he is becoming.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The line of the pendulum scythed past his vision. Blood ran in lines up the wall and sprung back into a rising body. Broken glass lifted and reformed into the window, pulled up into the air in sparkling shards to fill the frame, cracks disappearing. Daylight retracted from the floor, faded out through the now whole window and darkened back into night. Street lights flicked suddenly on while the woman’s expression twisted and then smoothed. Bullet holes in the wall filled, the surface popping back into shape.

Time spooled out in front of Will as he meticulously cleaned the scene, resetting the pieces into their original positions. He stepped backwards, once, twice, until he too was in position. 

He took a moment to breath, to close his eyes and allow the presence of the killer to fill his mind.

He lifted his arm, pulled the trigger, felt the recoil. Watched the window shatter and the woman move again, falling to the ground in a shower of glass.

“I did not want it to start like this,” he realised. The angle was awkward, and the woman saw him through the window as he approached. Nevertheless he moved onwards, punching excess glass out of the window and jumping through, one hand on the sill. He looked down at the body, gurgling and dying on the floor. The bullet had gone through her upper right torso, piercing lungs and arteries; she was bleeding out onto the floor boards and would be dead within minutes.

“I wanted her to suffer, but this was too quick. It makes me angry.” Will turned and fired three shots into the wall, little shards of plaster exploding from each impact. The sudden fury made his movements harsh and stiff. His expression twisted and he turned, fired another shot into the woman’s body. It jerked; bright, red, blood pooling out across the hardwood floor. He spat on the ground in anger and disgust.

Disgust that she still smelt so delicious even when he _knew_ she was so foul.

 

Will opened his eyes, the pieces back where they had fallen, yellow police tape in the corner of his vision and the crimson of half-dried blood across the ground. An ache slowly started itself in Will’s head, digging in behind his eyes.

“He was a vampire, and he was angry, no, _furious_ with her. It was very personal. He would have made a mistake,” he said, trying to clean the taste of anger from his mouth. His eyes settled on the window sill, where shards of broken glass still stuck up.

“He came in through the window, not the door. Any blood there is probably his, and he might have spat on the floor.” Someone nodded and approached the window.

Will didn't watch the forensic team work, simply stepped back out of the house, fumbling in his pocket for the ever present bottle of Aspirin. 

His hand shook slightly as he uncapped the lid, he could still smell the metallic tang of blood, left over from the vampire, and he cringed at the part of him that craved it. That would disappear soon enough, it always did.

“Will.” The voice came from behind him as he popped a handful of the pills into his mouth, swallowing dry. He recognised its low baritone anyway.

“What, Jack?” he sighed, turning to face the head of the FBI’s Behavioural Science Unit.

The werewolf was unperturbed by his lack of a polite greeting, and merely waved Will away from the commotion of the crime scene. Will sighed again and followed the man for the short distance.

“You’ve finished here?” Jack asked. 

Will nodded. “It was a vampire, almost certainly left DNA samples too.”

“Really?” Jack raised an eyebrow, suddenly looking intrigued. He also subtly sniffed the air, though Will was pretty sure he didn’t even realise he was doing it. “A vampire huh? I know this killer didn’t drink any of the blood, so how could you tell?”

Will shrugged, “They were _so_ angry, and disgusted. But disgusted in the way of someone disgusted by food, and he was hungry, and disgusted with that hunger too.” Will didn’t struggle too hard to explain how he knew, how he could _feel_ the disgust in the way the blood splattered over the      wall, in the three impotent bullet holes. He knew Jack trusted his insights enough not to question too deeply. Usually anyway.

“Huh,” said Jack, simply. Will knew he wasn't really interested past a fleeting curiosity, the man’s mind clearly on other things. “Well, I’m sure that will be wrapped up soon then. I need to borrow you on something more important than this run-of-the-mill murder.” 

Ah, the real reason Jack was here in this backwoods town, visiting Will on one of his ‘run-of-the-mill’ murder investigations.

Will nodded his head in assent, though he had little desire to get into the mind of another killer today, especially when he was still trying to get the lingering feelings of anger, and the ever-present hunger of a vampire out of his thoughts.

“It’s the abductions Will,” Jack wasted no time dancing around the issue. “Eight girls abducted from eight different Minnesota campuses, all in the last eight months.” Will could sense the tension more strongly in Jack now, see it leak to the surface of the man’s demeanour, start to feel it in himself.

“I thought there were only seven,” Will frowned at a spot just below and to the left of Jack’s face. Some said eye contact with a werewolf was dangerous, for Will eye contact with anyone held a certain danger.

“There _were_ seven,” Jack said. “Eighth was called in about three minutes before I pulled up at this crime scene.” 

“There’s still no bodies, so you’re calling them abductions,” Will said slowly, Jack nodded. “So why are you calling me in? _”_ Will worked homicide, not kidnappings. If he had no body, no crime scene, no evidence of the killer, he had nothing to work with.

“No bodies, no body parts, not even a sniff of anything that comes out of bodies. Nothing. The FBI is at a dead end on this one.”

“Again, Jack. Why me? Why now?” Will reached up to rub his skull as the ache grew stronger.

“Look, I’ve got eight families breathing down my neck on this one, and the whole scenario is making my teeth itch. I just need you to go in there and do what you do.”

“Do you even have a crime scene Jack? Is there even anything _for_ me to look at?”

Jack nodded, serious, “We’re fairly sure the last one was taken from around her parent’s house, there’s got to be _some_ evidence there, something we’ve missed but you can see.”

Will let out a breath and then nodded, his headache was getting worse despite the pills. It wasn’t magic what he did, he wasn’t a witch or a clairvoyant, and he appreciated that Jack didn’t see it that way. Will looked at the crime scene, looked at the evidence. He was just able to see more in it than most. An empathy disorder, most had called it. A gift, some had said. A curse, Will himself felt on darker evenings, though he never said it out loud, not wanting to go down that particular cliche road.

“Come, we’ve got the case set up in my office, I’d like you to have a look at it now.” Jack was pushy, but Will did respect him. _A nose for murder,_ the tabloids often said, in their usual mildly offensive way, _The FBI’s Jack Rustle Terrier,_ had been a particularly double-entendre filled piece, though Will knows Jack doesn’t mind as much as he often lets on. Either way, the werewolf is good at what he does, and try as he might Will can’t quite blame him for pulling in all resources on a difficult case. Even when those resources are a Will Graham who can feel a migraine really starting to build force.

 

*

 

“Elise Nichols,” Jack said.

The car pulled into the curb and Will looked up at the house from the passenger seat. Two story, red brick, suburban, yellow lights shining from the windows into the dusk, white picket fence. The picture of happy family life.

“She was meant to come home here to house-sit for her parents over the weekend, feed the cat - that kind of thing. We think she was abducted from around here,” Jack continued as they got out of the car. The werewolf knocked on the door, talking to the parents while Will stood half behind the other man’s bulk. Will nodded distractedly as he was introduced and they were let into the house.

His hand pushed down into his pants pocket, clutching the photo of the girl Jack had let him take from his office. 

Human, brown hair, pale skin, and so very _similar_ to the other seven girls _._ The killer definitely had a type, though it certainly wasn’t that simple. Will could feel a sense of desperation in the killer’s choices. It wasn’t about all the girls, it was about one of them, someone he was leading up to, or trying to hide amidst the others. Hide how special she was.

“She might have just gotten on a train, wanted to get away from it all,” the father was saying behind him as Will tried to put himself out of the way, standing close to the side of the room and looking over the family portraits crowding the wall. Pretty little pictures of a happy life; Elise Nichols holds the family cat in one, hugs her parents in another. Will knows for sure now that she didn’t just leave on her own, can even feel echoes of the girls happiness through the still images.

The mother, sitting at the small kitchen table said, “She looks… looks like the other girls who went missing.” The woman paused for a long moment then added, “could she still be alive?” It’s clear the parents are loosing hope, or have lost it already. None of the other girls were returned, and the first had been taken over three months ago.

“Right now we simply have no way of knowing,” Jack answered quietly, with the low comforting tone Will usually failed at. There’s a reason he didn’t like to talk to the family of the victims, and its not just their emotions muddling him up, confusing him.

Will’s gaze tracked across the photos again, his hand still deep in his pocket clutching Elise Nichol’s headshot. Its weight between his fingers helped to anchor the emotions down, keep them orderly and neat.

“How’s the cat?” he asked, turning around, and only realised it might have sounded insensitive at Jack’s expression.

“She was meant to feed the cat. Was it acting weird when you got back? Like it was hungry?” He tried to explain. He thought back to his own pack of mutts; animals acted differently when they weren’t fed on time.

“I didn’t notice anything,” the father answered, Will nodded in acknowledgement and then looked away, half avoiding the eye contact and half because his attention was being pulled to the ceiling.

“Perhaps some of the cat food was gone?” Jack asked. Will tuned their conversation out again. 

He was watching the patch of ceiling above the table as it grew darker, like black liquid seeping through the plaster. He rubbed his head and blinked hard, clean white plaster was there again for a second before the damp blackness returned, flickering in and out for a moment. Wetness gathered and dropped from the ceiling, a dark red stain of blood marring the surface of the kitchen table. The image seemed to exist at the same time as reality, like a transparent photo held above the world. Will rubbed his eyes harder, pushing his hand deeper into his pocket to feel the bottle of painkillers as his migraine flared up. He felt a sense of fear creeping into his head and he knew it wasn’t his own.

Elise was abducted from here, from the house.

“I think so,” the father was saying, and Will looked to Jack. The man’s nostrils flared slightly, and Will thought he might be smelling Will’s distress. The werewolf got the hint in Will's gaze anyway, and beckoned to Will.

“Excuse us a moment.” Jack said to the parents as they walked a couple of feet away, and Will took a step closer to Jack.

“She was taken from here,” he said, voice low. 

“How can you tell?”

“She came home, fed the cat. She was taken from _here._ ” Will was certain now even though only moments ago he had been unsure. The father could have been wrong about the cat, Elise could have gone for a walk and been taken then. But their emotion, their thoughts, pressed in against him. Even if the girl’s only come in second hand, through images. Elise didn’t go for a walk, and the father might have had his thoughts on other things, but he would notice the cat food.

It was a testament to Jack’s faith in Will’s ‘talent’ that he didn’t question further, or maybe he could smell some last trace of the girl in the air, either way he merely pulled out his phone and dialled.

“The Nichols resident is a crime scene,” he spoke into the receiver and Will heard a quiet gasp from the table behind them. Jack continued, listing people he wanted to come, professionals to search the house for evidence.

“Why is it now a crime scene? What do you know?” Asked the father.

“New evidence suggests she disappeared from here,” Jack said calmly, though not without sympathy.

Will turned his head so as not to witness the couples reaction to the news.

“Can I see your daughter’s room?” he interjected, wanting to get on with his job, and to get out of this awkward social interaction.

“Um, yes,” The father said slowly, after a moment of open-mouthed staring. He stood and led Will up the stairs as the profiler snapped on some plastic gloves, trying to ignore the other man’s worried gaze. “The police were in there this morning,” he added, unsure. Will could feel the man’s concern, his nervous feeling of uselessness.

The bedroom’s door was shut, and Will felt a creeping sense of unease, dread… and expectation, as they approached. He remembered the vision of blood seeping though the kitchen ceiling, as though soaking in from a room above, and suddenly felt slightly sick.

It had just been his eye’s playing tricks on him with the shadows, and he hadn’t slept well recently, and migraines were known to cause visual distortions, but the sight of it still felt foreboding.

The feeling wasn’t helped by the Nichol’s cat, sniffing at the bottom of the missing girl’s door.

Mr. Nichols went to open the door and Will stopped him, holding up a gloved hand.

“Please, let me.” Will reached for the door knob himself, and then paused, turning back to the father. “Please don’t touch anything in here,” he managed to hold eye contact for a second, swallowing against the inrush of gut wrenching, tired, worry from the other man.

“You can hold the cat if it helps,” Will tried, nodding down to where the tortoise shell cat was sitting, looking up at them.

The man picked up the cat , holding it tightly, and Will opened the bedroom door.

He wished he felt surprise along with the father’s gasp of his daughter’s name behind him, instead he just felt tired acknowledgement at Elise’s body, laid out on the bed.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The scene is investigated, and Will dreams.

Elise’s father stepped forward and Will turned around, holding his hands up and grasping the man’s upper arms as he tried to reach his daughter.

“You need to leave, please” Will said quickly, unable to force eye contact this time, his eyes instead dancing across the man’s shocked face.

The cat dropped from suddenly limp arms as Will, as gently as he could, guided the man back out of the room.

“Tell Officer Crawford to come up here, please,” he added waiting for the shaky nod before closing the door, blocking the man’s sight of Elise’s body.

He turned back to the corpse. Breathed in. Breathed out. Flushed the father’s emotions from his mind. He felt sick and for a moment saw dark red blood spilling from the bed and onto the floor. He blinked. No, just shadows, just the folds of the sheets, pulled up to tuck the girl back into bed.

Will’s headache throbbed and he pressed his fingers against his temples, before reaching into his pocket and uncapping the bottle of painkillers. He swallowed down another pill before hearing the door click open behind him.

Jack entered quietly as Will pushed the bottle back into his pocket, fingers brushing past the photo of the dead girl.

The werewolf sighed, looking over at Elise Nichols and then back to Will.

“So our abductor is a killer, and he brought her back,” he said.

“Are you surprised?” Will asked.

“About the killing? No, he wouldn’t need to find new girls if he was keeping them alive. I am surprised he tucked her back into her bed though. Aren’t you?”

Will paused to answer, finally settling on, “It’s… I don’t know if I’m surprised. It’s been a long day.” He rubbed a hand over his eyes.

Jack nodded in acceptance, “When you’re ready to speak, speak. If your’e not ready, don’t speak. The forensics team will be hear in less than ten minutes.” He said quietly, Will appreciated the man’s attempt to remain calm, it helped Will do the same.  
He nodded, still not looking at the other man, and Jack turned and left again, leaving Will and the scene alone. It was how Will preferred to work; by himself, with fewer distractions and fewer emotions pushing into his mind.

He moved to the window and turned to face the bed. The pendulum swung across his vision.

Will saw the night outside grow darker, and the bedside lamp flicked on to a low glow, filling the room with soft light. He watched as Elise’s position shifted, the flush of life returning to her cheeks and her chest moving as she breathed. The faint purple strangle marks around her neck faded out. The small spots of blood on her nightgown disappeared, returning it to a pristine white.

A light breeze brushed through the open window behind him, stirring the lace curtains and Will felt the killer’s mind at the edges of his own. He watched Elise sleep with a sensation of fondness, tinged with desperation. The desperation grew stronger. God, he couldn’t stand it. Couldn’t stand watching her like this.

It took him a second to move to the bed, to loom over it, hands shooting down to Elise’s neck. It would be quick. He squeezed tightly. The girl woke, tried to gasp, her eyes widening in terror when she found she couldn’t breathe.

Will wished she wouldn’t look at him like that. He squeezed harder, trying to hasten her death, push her into peace that much faster.

“You’re Will Graham.” The voice cut through his imagination and Will jerked back into reality by the window, the room light was on, and there was a women speaking to him.

“Y-you’re not supposed to be in here,” he managed, feeling his hands clenched into fists, still trying to strangle the life out of someone. He took a breath and loosened them, eyes darting across the room and taking in the open door, and the asian lady watching him with interest. She seemed familiar and he guessed he’d seen her around the forensics lab once or twice.

“You wrote the standard monograph on time of death by insect activity,” the woman continued, smiling. She sounded curious and took a step towards him. In the half-second Will let his eyes meet hers he saw they were a bronzed gold, irises extending right to the edges. She was almost certainly a kind of avia-form, her sharp gaze another clue as she looked him up and down.

“You’re not real FBI?” she asked.

“Um…” Will was saved from answering by Jack’s sudden presence through the door, trailed by two more forensic specialists. Will recognised Jimmy Price, and the other one looked familiar as well, the name Zellar rose to mind.

“No, he’s a special investigator. You know you’re not supposed to be in here, Beverly,” said Jack, though Will could tell the werewolf was not really concerned by her presence. The man wanted this scene thoroughly looked at as soon as possible.

“I found antler velvet in two of the wounds, like she was gored.” Beverly said, despite the slight admonishment.

Will looked back down at the corpse, and the small, neat, bloody points on her nightgown. She wasn’t gored by an animal.

His opinion seemed to be shared by one of the other forensics, Zellar who said, “Hold on, deer and elk pin their prey, push down with their antlers to suffocate them - that’s how they’d kill a fox or a coyote. Could it have been a shifter?”

Beverly shrugged, “No way of knowing for sure without a DNA check.”

“She - she was strangled,” Will supplied, pointing to the faint purple marks around the girl’s neck.

“You’re right,” Beverly said, leaning across the body and carefully lowering the high neck of the nightgown. “Its faint but you can definitely see the bruising, I’m surprised I didn't see that right away.” She looked back up at Will with her hawk-sharp eyes and he had to force himself not to cringe away from her gaze. He didn’t like being watched so intensely. “So she was strangled and then gored?”

It felt wrong to Will. He tried to focus on why, forcing his mind back to the killer’s. There wasn’t much to work with here, barely a crime scene, and a body with a confusion of evidence, but he could still make out the feelings of the killer. They wouldn’t do something like that to the girl, it was too uncaring, too violent, he didn’t think they were a shifter either. “Antler velvet promotes healing, he might have put it there on purpose.” Will’s eyes flicked away from the other’s gazes, down to the floor.

“You think he was trying to heal her?” Jack asked, and Will gave a small nod.

“He was trying to - to undo as much as he could. Given he’d already killed her,” he clarified.

“He put her back where he found her,” Jack continued the thought.

“Yes. Whatever he did to the others, he couldn’t do it to her…” Will said, staring at the dead girl. At _Elise Nichols_. There had been something different about her.

“Back in my office you said there’d be one girl it was all about, is this her?” Jack asked.

Will slowly shook his head, focusing hard on the killer’s mind, on the strands of thought that still permeated the room. “This isn’t her. This is an… apology.” There had been something different about her, but the killer hadn’t known it when he had strangled her. Then he’d found out and tried to reverse what he had done.

Will’s head continued to ache. Perhaps he’d built up a tolerance to the painkillers. It felt like the killer’s mind was wrapped tightly around his head, squeezing it like he had squeezed the dead girl’s throat, and yet he _still_ couldn’t quite see who they were. He shook his head slightly, dispelling the feelings and purposely stepping away from the crime scene.

“That’s all I’m getting,” he apologised, pressing fingers to his tired eyes.

Jack looked like he was about to protest for a moment, then nodded, waving his hand for Will to leave. “I’ll get someone to drive you back.”

Will forced the corners of his mouth up in thanks, stepping out of the room. He glanced back to see the three forensic agents moving around the room to do their work. Circling the corpse like flies.

 

*

 

His dogs sniffed him in greeting when he finally made it back to wolf trap late that night, and Will managed a real smile for the first time that day. The newest dog, Winston, wuffed happily as he gave them each a pat just inside the front door.

Eventually Will stood to hang up his coat and fix himself something to eat. The dogs spread back out into the house, and Will moved to the kitchen, having only enough energy to eat a couple of pieces of toast and fill the dog bowls before he was flopping into his bed.

His headache _had_ been dulled by the many painkillers he’d taken over the course of the day, but it had also spread out until it seemed to fill his entire body. Will _ached_ , and ached with tiredness. He was asleep in minutes.

 

_Will dreamed the dead girl lay beside him. His bed sitting in an ocean of darkness as he managed to force his head sideways to look at her, so close beside him, mirroring his own position under the sheets. Her eyes were closed, the strangle marks around her neck were now a vivid purple, and blood ran in steady lines from the six neat holes in her torso. Will felt almost like he was about to cry._

_Then the girl was rising from the bed, as though pulled up by something invisible attached to those holes, or hooked up by something inside them. Will’s sheet slid off her body as she rose, but it was Will who suddenly felt incredibly cold. Then little twisting, metal filings were showering down from her corpse, falling in slow motion to bounce across the mattress. They mingled with the blood still streaming in thin lines from her wounds, and Will felt his own tears begin to fall._

 

Will woke with a gasp, and for a long moment battled confusion at being alone in his bed. It was still dark outside, his alarm clock flashing just past two am, but it was not the heavy darkness of the dream. He sat up with the feeling of his cold, sweat-soaked clothes clinging to his skin, and tried to calm his racing heart and breath. The bed was damp and uncomfortable beneath him as he swallowed against the feeling of unshed tears, and a sadness that was not his own.

He was used to bad dreams, they weren't hard to come across in his line of work, and they were always worse after exposing himself to the emotions of the killers and the killed. Fear and anger and spite and disgust, all building up in his mind only to be released when he closed his eyes.

This dream had felt more real than most though. It had been vivid, and strange, and solid in a way many weren’t.

Will swung his legs off the bed, rubbing a hand up through his sweaty hair, and stumbling to the bathroom. It wasn’t the first time he’d woken up drenched in sweat and with a racing heart. He splashed his face with cold water from the tap in an attempt to dispel the last of the dream, and grabbed a couple of towels. One laid out on the bed protected him from the worst of the dampness, and after taking off his shirt, another towel made a good enough blanket to keep him warm. Provided he didn’t move too much in the night, and didn’t minds his feet poking out from the bottom.  
The sight of Elise Nichols in bed beside him stuck with him though, as he tried to go back to sleep. Her sightless eyes and the intense sadness that had permeated the dream clung to his mind as he hovered on the edge of sleep.

It was near dawn when he finally slipped back into a fitful sleep, and he managed a few more hours rest.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will forces himself deeper into the killer's mind, and certain truths about the murder of Elise Nichols are discovered.  
> Will's doesn't have a good day.

Elise’s body was laid out on the metal morgue table, and every time Will blinked or looked away he felt like the body was rising up in the air. Pulled up from those six neat holes.

“Sorry, I-” he muttered, turning from the corpse and running a hand over his face. “I’ll be back.”

Will stepped out of the room, ignoring the watchful eyes of Jack and the avia-form, Beverly. The only two people in the forensics lab so far this morning. He made his way to the men’s bathroom, and tried to ignore the shaking of his hand as he turned the tap, plugging the sink and watching it fill with water.

He dunked his head, holding his face under for a long moment. The cold water was nice on his slightly sweaty skin but as it warmed around his face it started to feel cloying, thick, like blood about to pour down his throat and into his nostrils.

Will pulled back from the water in a rush, reaching out blindly for the paper towel to wipe across his face. Only after he was dry did he open his eyes, double checking for the lack of blood on his skin or blooming across the paper towel scrunched in his fist.

He held his own gaze in the mirror for a long moment until Jack strode into the bathroom behind him. Will turned to face his boss as the werewolf stopped in front of him, looking him over.

“You feeling ok Graham?”

Will nodded shakily. “Yes. Just didn’t sleep well last night.” His eyes slipped away from Jack’s to settle on the wall behind him.

Jack frowned, “You respect my judgement don’t you?”

“Of course,”

“This case is stressful for you, for whatever reason, but I need to know you’re giving it your full attention.” 

It said something about Jack’s familiarity with Will’s behaviour that he didn’t try to guess why it was stressful. They had worked together often enough for him to know that sometimes that’s just how things were for Will.

“I am, I am, it’s just… this killer is confusing! He’s not like any psychopath I’ve read about before, I don't even know if he is a psychopath. He’s not insensitive.”

“Then what _is_ he like Will? You know something about him, otherwise you wouldn’t have said that it was an apology. What is he apologising _for?_ ”

Will focused back into the emotions he had felt in the bedroom yesterday, trying to look past the obvious. “He feels bad. He couldn’t honour her.” He ran a hand over his face, “It’s not - he _loves_ these girls,” Will could feel it in the killer’s desperation, strong in the way he’d tried to undo what he’d done to Elise, for whatever reason.

“We found no saliva, there was no se-“

“Not like that, he wouldn’t disrespect them in that way!” Will cut the other man off. “He kills them quickly, mercifully - at least to his thinking.” Will remembered feeling the girls throat under his hands, remembered the killer’s need to end it quickly.

“A sensitive psychopath,” Jack mused. “He risked getting caught to tuck Elise Nichols back into bed.”

Will nodded, leaning back against the sink, another piece of the killer’s thoughts slotting into his head at Jack’s words.

“He has to take the next one soon, he _knows_ he’s going to get caught. One way or another.”

Jack sighed, but Will could tell he was glad to get the knowledge at least. Glad to get something more from Will’s empathy.

“We should get back to it then,” the werewolf said.

“Just, give me a moment. Please.”

Jack’s eyes settled on him for a long moment and then he nodded.

“Don’t take too long.”

Will tilted his head in response and the other man left, leaving the profiler alone in the bathroom.

He breathed out, loosening a modicum of tension from his shoulders. The killer’s thoughts still sat heavily in his mind, feeling like a tangle nestled all the way down into his throat. He had pushed himself harder to know the killer for Jack, forcing himself abruptly back into that mindset without even a crime scene to help keep him centred. Not to mention he was still feeling off from his nightmare the night before.

He turned back to the sink, running the tap again, letting the water pour over his hands. He watched it closely; clear cool water, not blood at all.

By the time he got back to lab the other two forensic specialists had turned up, and Beverly had finished her examination of the corpse’s clothes.

“Report say anything about nails?” she was asking as Will entered the room.

“We got scrapings from her palms when she scratched herself, she didn’t scratch him,” answered Zellar.

“So no DNA evidence - the antler velvet came through, its _Cervus elaphus,_ the American Elk,” Jimmy Price added as Will took up his place just to the side and out of the way.

“Right, and we got no prints off the body, just a hand spread from the neck,” Zellar continued.

“So a piece of metal is all we’ve got,” Beverly mused, her eyes tracking over the body again.

“Metal?” Will spoke up without entirely meaning to, his mind suddenly thrust back to his dream. The little pieces of metal filings falling, inexplicably, from Elise’s body.

“Yes, we found it on her clothes, it matches nothing in her room so it likely came from the killer.”  Beverly pointed to a little plastic evidence bag resting on the table by the corpse.

Will came closer and felt his breath hitch. The twisting little fragment of steel was so similar to that in his dream it was nearly inseparable.

“It’s a metal filing, from a pipe threader or something similar,” Beverly added watching him closely.

Will nodded, swallowing, “It’s from the killer.”

“You ok Graham?” Jack was watching him from across the table and Will realised his hands were shaking.

“I’m - yes, I’m fine.”

He had seen the metal filings in his dream, they had seemed out of context with the murder, but at the time he had easily attributed that to the lack of logic inherent in dreaming, a random coincidence. But now here was proof that they were connected, a proof he hadn’t known about until now. 

It didn’t help that thinking about the dream again made the girl on the table seem to be floating, whenever his eyes were not directly on her. Surely a trick of the light of the metal table, but it was still unsettling.

“I found the metal on her clothes, caught in the blood around the wounds,” Beverly continued, eyeing Will cautiously as he stepped back again, pushing his hands into his pockets to hide the slight trembling of his fingers.

“The wounds themselves were conclusively post mortem, spaced like that of a deer but she wasn’t killed by one,” Zellar added, gesturing at the puncture points across the girl’s chest.

Will stared, and could see something poking up through the wounds. Like the blood on the ceiling at the Nichol’s house, it seemed both real and not-real at the same time. An afterimage above reality, though when Will paid attention to it, it gained the solidness of reality while still being indefinably absent.

The object poked up further, bone-white and smooth, with dark streaks of blood staining the surface. Will watched as the antlers pushed up through the girl’s flesh, this was no trick of the light, and when he closed his eyes against the sight he was met with the blackness of his dream. Elise Nichol’s body floated behind his eyelids and he watched as the deer antlers impaled her, hanging her like meat from a hook.

When Will opened his eyes again the others were looking at him again, and he realised he must have made some small sound of distress.

“She was mounted on the antlers, like hooks,” he said slowly, “she may have been bled.”

“Her liver _was_ removed,” Zellar said, “and then put back.”

“Why would he cut it out if he was only gonna sew it back in?” Price mused, leaning in over the corpse to study the autopsy incision into her abdomen.

Will could still feel the killer’s mind pressing in against his own, could feel the man’s desperate sense of affection as he answered, “Something wrong with the meat.”

“She had liver cancer,” realised Zellar, peering back in over the body. “You can just see the start of tumour growth around the inferior Vena Cava.”

Will nodded, feeling a hint of bile rise in his throat as another part of the killer’s psyche slipped onto his own.

“He’s eating them. That's how he honours them.”

The rest of the team looked suitably put off by the idea, Jack grimaced but did not look entirely surprised. Will supposed he probably wasn’t, the head of the FBI’s behavioural unit had likely come across a lot worse than cannibalism in his time. 

Will felt a familiar little ache settle into his skull, and his hand slipped into his pocket to touch the nearly empty bottle of painkillers. He’d have to restock on his way home that night.

Beverly looked over at Will. “So he killed her and then when he couldn’t eat her he tried to reverse what he’d done like… what was it you said? An apology?”

Will nodded.

“So perhaps he doesn’t _want_ to kill these girls? Maybe he _has_ to, like he needs to eat human flesh. You know of anything like that Jimmy?” she continued.

Price looked thoughtful, “A wendigo perhaps? Driven to hunger for human flesh but not without the humanity to regret that hunger?”

Will shook his head. The killer wasn’t killing because of hunger - he could feel that much easily enough, at least not any kind of physical hunger. He didn’t think the killer had been feeling it at the time either, not like the vampire at his first crime scene of yesterday. It was a more desperate kind of need, mixed with fear and possession. The eating of the girls was a need to consume, to possess. To take into himself some essence of them, perhaps so that they could not leave him.

“I think he’s human,” Will said, “Or at least not driven by his hunger.”

“Why do you say that Will?” Jack asked slowly, as though trying not to frighten away any insights Will might have suddenly gained.

“He’s- It’s not _about_ the eating - I mean it is, but it’s more than that, bigger than that…” He trailed off, eyes ghosting over Elise Nichol’s body, if he blinked he could still see antlers poking up though her skin. “I can’t explain it, I’m sorry.”

Will tried to fill his mind with the crime scene, with the evidence there and the evidence that was Elise’s body, but it felt like the harder he tried to see the killer’s mind, the more confused it all was. 

He was tired, and he wasn’t going to get any more that was helpful from his empathy today.

Will’s headache throbbed and he pressed a finger up to his temple. He remembered the metal filings in his dream. Little pieces of steel stained with blood, showering down to bounce across his mattress, and now he was half-seeing antlers sticking up through a corpse.

An exhaustion had settled in on him since yesterday, and it had not been at all helped by his broken sleep that night. His ‘active imagination’ made it difficult for him to put images out of his head, his lack of sleep must be making it worse. Must be making him hallucinate a little bit too, like dreaming while awake. 

His mind kept being drawn back to the dream however, where did the metal filings come from? He hadn’t known about them before today.

“Excuse me,” he muttered, backing out of the room. Not a very polite exit but Will’s head ached, and there was nothing more he could do in the lab today.

He made it out of the door and swallowed the last of the pills in his pocket.

“Will,” Jack said from behind him, closing the lab door as he emerged.

“I’m giving the case my full attention - don’t worry. I just, I had to get a little fresh air for a bit, and I don't think I’m going to get anything more today,” Will said quickly, trying to allay the lecture he was sure was about to come.

“This isn’t about that,” Jack said as Will turned to face him. “I said you seemed stress before, but its worse than that isn’t it? You went white as a ghost when you saw the bit of metal Beverly found.”

“It’s nothing, I’m fine. Well, fine enough to work.”

“Don’t lie to me Will.” Jack frowned, “You smell so strongly of stress and anxiety I’d be able to sense it from a block away,” 

Will considered brushing him off again, insisting he was fine. But a glance across Jack face, and the set of the man’s body, told him Jack wouldn’t believe it, and probably wouldn’t let it go.

“It’s… I’ve not been sleeping well recently, and last night was pretty bad. I had a nightmare about the crime scene. But I dreamed about the metal filings Jack, I dreamed of them before I even knew they existed.” Will pushed a hand up through his hair, “and maybe I did see it and only my unconscious mind noticed it, but how could I see it? It was in the blood on her shirt and it was small. I have to see the evidence, I use evidence. That’s how I work, but I didn’t see this evidence Jack.”

Will stopped, taking a breath and realising he was beginning to rant, his words speeding up.

“Perhaps it was just a coincidence that it was in your dream?” Jack began, though he didn’t sound entirely convinced himself.

Will shook his head, and then turned it into a shaky nod. “Yes, no. Maybe, I don’t know Jack. I’m seeing things too, like hallucinations, but not as real as that. More like a shadow on top of reality.”

“Like what?” Jack raised an eyebrow.

“Like blood. In the Nichol’s house, before we saw the body. It looked like it was coming through the ceiling, and then today it looked like antlers were coming up through her body, just back there.” He gestured towards the closed door of the lab. “It’s what made me realise she’d been hung like that, on hooks.”

“Well we knew about the antler velvet, hallucinations aside that could just be your mind trying to make sense of the evidence.” Jack tried to ease him. Will felt like it was having the opposite affect but he nodded.

“I don’t know, I’m just tired. That’s probably all it is.”

“You’ve been pushing yourself hard to see this killer. Harder than normal anyway. I need you to be a part of this. I need your insights, but,” and Will could sense Jack’s deliberation over the next bit, “but perhaps it would be better if you went home for the rest of the day, got some more sleep. You can come back fresh tomorrow.”

Will felt like he might protest for a moment, he was resentful of being sent home just because he was tired. But he was grateful too, “Thanks, yeah. Good idea probably.”

Will nodded and left, his bed back in Wolf Trap beckoning him like a beacon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was hoping to (finally) introduce Hannibal this chapter... but that just didn't happen. Sorry, he'll be in the next one I promise.
> 
> Also sorry my chapters aren't very long? Smaller chapters = faster updates though.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will has another dream. Will has a nice time (for him at least) with his dogs. And this guy called Hannibal makes an appearance - I don't know if you've heard of him :P

Will’s dogs were confused when he walked though his door at half past two in the afternoon and then headed straight to bed. Closing his curtains to shut out the sunlight and burrowing in under the covers. He was bone tired, and the long car trip back to Wolf Trap had only pushed the exhaustion in deeper.

The pillows felt soft enough beneath his face, and he pushed a hand out from under the sheet to run his fingers through Winston’s fur. The dog, who liked to stay close to Will whenever he was home, sat up at the side of his bed, giving a few licks to Will’s fingers, probably curious about why Will had decided now was the time for sleep. Whatever the reason, it was comforting, and Will soon found himself slipping into darkness.

 

_The dream crept up on Will through the blankness of sleep, until suddenly he was back in the lab, or somewhere that looked like the lab - it still had that undefinable otherness of a dream. There was a man in front of him, and Will could make out nothing about him other than that he was slightly taller and broader than Will himself. Clothes and features and even hair were all impossible for him to focus on, and he found his attention slipping away from them, so much so that he didn’t even realise the man was facing away until he turned around. Instead of a face he had a skull, and dark red eyes - like blood, blinked open to look at Will._

_Will found himself cringing away from the intense gaze, though his reaction was ignored and the man lifted a finger to point at something behind him. He followed the finger, turning and realising they were now standing waist deep in a stream. A small bird -  a swallow - was fluttering above the water. As he watched, Will felt the Killer’s sense of desperation bleed into his mind, and suddenly blood was dripping from the bird, staining the river red._

_Will looked down, there was a knife in his hand. No - now it was a piece of paper, some kind of form or letter with a signature at the bottom. Will squinted but the words slipped out of his mind faster than he could find them, and they were soon covered by the water of the river. It was red with blood now, and rising. The bird, feathers bloody, floated past him in the swirling eddies, weakly twitching its wings. The river covered his hand, lapped up over his arm, kissed at his throat…_

 

Will gasped, waking with the sensation of water in his lungs. One of his dogs whined next to the bed at his sudden movement, and afternoon light still pushed against the curtain. Probably only an hour or two since he had fallen into bed.

He had sweated through his shirt again, and he started to shiver beneath the sheet, but he didn’t want to get up yet. No metal filings this time, but the dream had felt as real, as solid, as the last one. It was unsettling, would a bird covered with blood be found tomorrow, somehow connected to the case?

Will gave a small, hysterical chuckle, and then pressed his damp face back into his pillow until it was hard to breathe.

He got up, changing the linens (again) and found himself in the shower. The initial chill of the water woke him up further, and he scrubbed himself clean. The water grew hotter and he stood for a long moment, letting it scald him and bring his blood up beneath the surface of his skin.

When he emerged in a swirl of steam, he grabbed a towel and dug out his pants from where he had let them drop, pulling the empty Aspirin bottle from the pocket. Potential side effects included nausea, vomiting, stomach bleeding, and ringing in the ears. Not hallucinations, and not strange dreams.

Well, he couldn’t blame it all on the pain pills then, which he would admit, he probably took more of than the recommended amount. Lack of proper sleep was still quite likely though.

He pulled on some fresh clothes and tossed the empty bottle in the trash, padding to the kitchen to make himself something to eat. It was still a little early for dinner, the kitchen clock flashing four pm, but he fixed himself a sandwich from the meagre contents of his fridge and opened the back door. Letting the dogs bound out past him and into the yard.

He had an afternoon off, and he would try to make the most of it, though as he sat out on the deck, watching the dogs play, his mind kept returning to the case. He couldn’t force it from his thoughts, and whenever he managed to focus on other things, Elise’s dead eyes rose up in his mind like a passive accusation. Will sighed, leaning back further into the rickety outside chair.

Elise Nichols, all the other girls whose faces graced the cork board in Jack’s office, and the girl hidden amongst it all - the one it was all _about_.

His mind still felt tangled in the case, and would likely stay that way until its conclusion. It was hard to just leave the work and relax when there was a killer on the loose, when people were dying. A common problem for the people in his line of work, but Will felt he had it a little worse, when the minds of the killer’s were wrapped up in and around his own, making it difficult for him to even think of other things.

There was also something about this case which made it harder to draw away from. It was… messy. The evidence pointed in several directions at once, across conflicting motivations, and Will was having difficulty piecing it all together. The killer was killing these girls, but he didn’t enjoy it. Yet he had a need to do it, and that need wasn’t something easy and mundane like hunger. Will’s headache was returning from just trying to follow the threads of his empathy in different directions.

It didn’t help that he had less evidence than usual to work with. Just a body, the killer had been cautious, and had left no other evidence at all, either in or around Elise’s room. Although for Will that lack of evidence was a kind of evidence in itself, telling him more about the way the killer thought.

Some crime scenes had evidence splashed across the walls, the proof of what had occurred drawn out for Will in blood and bodies - so clear that anyone could understand them. Such spaces offered Will not just a look at the physical aspect of the event, but also clearly showed the emotions of the killer; their violence, disgust, anger or fear. In this case the killer’s absence of a gory scene gave Will less to work with, but also told him about the more cautious, reserved nature of the killer. Despite the desperate violence Will had noticed so early.

The man clearly did not delight in spectacle, did not delight in the act of murder itself. It was a means to an end, but not a logical one - or a logic that only made sense to the mind behind the killings. 

Will sighed, wandering back inside and leaving the dogs to their own devices for a moment. He reemerged shortly after with a half-glass of whisky and smiled when Winston came up to him with the smaller Buster on his heals. He gave Winston a pat on his furry head and then squatted down to vigorously rub at Buster’s belly when the dog rolled over for it.

Will always felt better when surrounded by his pack. Dogs were easy, their actions easily interpreted for what they were, and they never needed all the social requirements Will knew he often failed at.

He would be lying if he didn’t admit they filled the hole for companionship that occasionally gnawed at his heels as well. He had been busy lately, and perhaps he should take them out for a walk, since he had time today. Will stood up from the porch, clicking his tongue behind his teeth to call the dogs to him, and slipped on the dirty boots he usually left out by the door.

His pack ranging about him, but never going too far, he set of for a wander in through the woods that surrounded his home, the afternoon light shining gently through the leaves.

*

Will was not surprised when his sleep was met with even more dreams that night, and he approached Jack’s office in the morning with the remnants of blood and death trailing after him. There had been the antlers of a stag forcing their way up through his mattress, and bloody eyes blinking at him from the darkness. Will had not slept well, and was now feeling twitchy, like his skin was too tight - though that might have been the extra strong coffee he had tipped down his throat before the drive out of Wolf Trap.

There was somebody else in Jack’s office when he stepped through the doorway. 

“How many confessions?” The unfamiliar man was asking in a steady voice, a soft European accent gracing the words. The man’s back was to Will, who had stopped a step into the room, but he could make out a head of dark ash blond hair and the fine cut of his tailored beige suit.

“Twelve dozen the last time I checked, none of them had any details until this morning,” Jack answered, and then looking over the stranger’s shoulder to Will added, “Graham, come in.”

Will entered, and took the vacant seat opposite Jack, next to the stranger, his eyes downcast as he shuffled onto the chair.

“Will, this is Hannibal Lecter.”

Will looked over at the man, eyes flicking up to make contact, and he felt his gaze snared in pools of red. Hannibal Lecter’s eyes were not a dull red, or a brown red, but the deep, dark red of blood, or of fine wine. The pupils were pits of darkness in the centres, ever so slightly elongated into a cat-like shape. A demon, Will thought, and managed to pull his eyes from the interested gaze of the other man.

“Doctor Lecter, this is Will Graham, my profiler.”

The man was probably here to help with the case, and Will nodded in an attempt at a polite greeting - he preferred not to shake hands, the other man tipped his head forward slightly as well. The demon gave him a smile, which - while full of the flat teeth of a human - had a definite sense of shark about it.

Jack turned back to the Doctor, but the angle of his body showed his words were aimed at Will as well, “As I was saying, no details until this morning, until they all had details. Seems some genius in Duluth PD took a photograph of Elise Nichols’ body with his phone, shared it with his friends, and now Freddy Lounds has posted it on her crime rag.”

“Tasteless,” Will mutters, Ms. Lounds’ articles were reliably equal parts insulting and carefully misleading. The woman never lied, but she twisted words and situations into the kind of stuff that fished in readers, and to just post images of a dead girl…

“Do you have trouble with taste?” The question came from Dr. Lecter, and Will allowed himself to glance quickly over the man’s face again. Prominent cheekbones, neat hair. There was something very old-world about the man, and while he appeared perhaps only just past middle age, Will wondered how old he really was.

“My thought’s are often not tasty,” Will said with a snort. Especially not today, when the darkness of his dreams felt like it was still clinging to his skin like tar.

“Nor mine, there are few effective barriers.” 

Will wondered what distasteful thoughts the demon could have.

“I try to build… forts.” Will admitted, it was a technique that rarely worked well, but sometimes allowed him a little separation from the horrors in his life. At the moment his forts were ruins, and the current case was easily slipping in through the cracks in the walls.

“Yet associations come quickly,” the Doctor countered.

Will shrugged, and then thought _Doctor_. The man was a psychiatrist - Will’s empathy made it clear as soon as Will entertained the idea, and instantly he was less comfortable talking with him.

“Jack,” he began, looking over at the werewolf who had been silent for the exchange, watching them both carefully. “Who’s profile is he working on?”

Will kept his voice calm, he had assumed Doctor Lecter was here for the case, but now the profiler had reasons to doubt that. 

He didn't like to be psychoanalysed.

“While Doctor Lecter is helping us with the case, he _is_ really here to talk to you, Will,” Jack admitted, sitting up straighter in his chair, eyes boring down on Will like a dog expecting a confrontation. Well, a wolf was a more precise metaphor, but Jack wasn't wrong, Will's skin itched at the suggestion.

“I told you, I’m _fine_. I’m working the case, I’m on top of the dreams. You don't need to serve my brain up for a damn psychiatrist to poke around in!” He spared a glance at Doctor Lecter, and added a quick “Sorry,” - though the man didn’t seem offended.

“You said you weren’t sleeping well, Will. You said you were hallucinating. You never said you were fine.” Jack's voice was steady.

Will thought about just standing up and leaving the office. He could just walk away now, but Jack continued talking.

“Calm down Will, he’s not here because I think you’re going crazy. He’s here to help you. Doctor Lecter knows a lot about all kinds of alterniforms. Necro-lifes, spirits, mages, beasts… I called him in because of what you told me Will. He can help you with your dreams.”

“I’m - I’m _human_ Jack. They’re just dreams, I can deal with them on my own.” Will leant forward, allowing a moment of eye contact with the other man to try and enforce his point.

“Then he can help you get over them. He is a psychiatrist after all.” Jack paused, and Will could sense the werewolf picking his next words carefully, “However, your dream helped the case Will, if we can get something out of them I want you to try.”

Ah. So that was Jack’s angle. Anything for a case. Though if Will was to be completely honest with himself, he could sense Jack’s concern for Will as well. The man was a leader, unbearably pushy at times, but he _did_ care. It was probably the only thing that stopped Will from just leaving right then.

He sighed. “Fine, I’ll have a - a _session,_ or whatever. But I’m not… I don’t think its going to come to anything.”

“We only need to have some talks, nothing that will make you uncomfortable,” the Doctor interjected for the first time, soft accent calling Will’s attention back to him, though his gaze only landed on the man’s grey sweater, worn beneath the beige suit jacket.

“Not fond of eye contact, are you?” It was posed as a question, despite the obviousness of Will's manners. “Do the eyes of a demon disturb you, Will?”

Will snorts. “The fact that you are a demon, _Doctor_ , is of no concern to me. It’s the eyes of a psychiatrist that I find disturbing.” Then he added, “And I thought you _weren’t_ here to psychoanalyse me.”

“I’m sorry, Will. Observing is what we do. I can’t shut mine off any more than you can shut yours off. Though I am glad to hear you are judging me on my profession, rather than my biology.”

Was that a joke? Somehow Will couldn’t imagine the overtly formal man joking, but there _were_  hints of amusement around the demon’s lips.

“Just, try to figure out what’s happening with my dreams - if you absolutely have to. But don't psychoanalyse me, you wouldn’t like me when I’m psychoanalysed.” To be fair, not that many people like Will anyway, too weird, too acerbic. He’d be the first to admit he didn’t have the most welcoming personality.

Will turned back to Jack, “Can I go now?”

Jack nodded, and Will stood. “Doctor Lecter will organise an appointment with you, and Will?” Will paused, “Make sure you go to it.”

The profiler just managed to avoid rolling his eyes, “Of course,” he said, sparing one last glance at the demon’s face before leaving.

The Doctor's voice followed him out the door, “This cannibal you have him getting to know, I think I will be able to help our Will see his face,” he said to Jack as Will closed the office door behind him. He didn’t pay the words attention however, thoughts of blood-red eyes and skulls and birds dying in rivers floating up in his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, well there you go. One Hannibal Lecter, as promised (Finally).  
> I hope I did an ok job, and I know we didn't get to see a whole lot of the Doctor Lecter here, but I hope he comes across right, and not too OOC.  
> Also I have not edited this extensively, gosh, I hope its ok.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beverly is a friendly person. Will and Hannibal speak (briefly) over the phone. Will wishes his dreams would stop but if they did I wouldn't have much of a story to write here. Sorry Will.

In the cafeteria near the BAU labs Will sat stirring a cup of coffee. The spoon clinked against the side of the cup, and tiny ripples spread out across the surface until Will was forced to drop the spoon and clench his fist to stop the tremors of his hand.

Psychiatrists. Will had spent just enough time being prodded and poked by them to decide it was something he wanted to vehemently avoid. Even Alana, who he quite liked, sometimes made him uncomfortable. Though he knew she always made the effort to keep her ‘professional interest’ out of their friendship.

However Jack had said he wasn’t meant to be psychoanalysed by this Hannibal Lecter, they were just meeting to see if Will was more than he seemed, more than human. Unless he wasn’t. Then he _would_ be getting his brain picked apart because of his dreams and hallucinations.

Jack knew he was having trouble with the case, having trouble with the killer’s thoughts in his head, perhaps this really was just to make sure he wasn’t about to snap and become the FBI’s dirty secret. Yet Will couldn’t deny the truth of Jack’s concern for him, or perhaps more importantly - the man’s interest in his dreams.

He supposed he would go to the meeting anyway, no matter his internal struggle. He had only promised one, and he could walk out if he needed too. No one was keeping him there.

“Hey!” a cheery voice said, and Will looked up into the bronze-gold eyes of the forensic specialist, Beverly Katz. 

“Mind if I sit?” She asked, and Will looked around at the mostly empty cafeteria, before shrugging and waving a hand at the chair opposite him.

She sat down taking a drink of the coffee in her hands before resting her arm on the table and leaning forwards slightly.

There were several long beats of silence before, “You don’t like to talk much do you?”

“Please don’t tell me you’re here to psychoanalyse me too.” Will sighed, pulling his coffee closer in what he knew was a classically defensive movement.

“Sorry,” she said, though there was a playful glint in her eye, “You don't gotta worry about me though, I’m just a humble forensic. Not a doctor.” She winked at him, and perhaps it was his lack of sleep but Will couldn’t help the small laugh that managed to force its way from his chest.

“There ya go!” Beverly grinned, “Smiling is good of you, you know.”

Will’s smile dropped again, “Not really got that much to smile about.”

Beverly pursed her lips for a moment, “Yeah, I heard you’re going for some kind of psyche eval? Sounds fun.”

“How did you hear that?” Will asked, eyebrow rising, “I only just found out myself.”

Beverly’s eyes darted both ways and then she grinned at Will, leaning closer across the table. “I may or may not have had a little listen as I passed by Jack’s office on the way to the copy-room.”

Despite himself Will felt a tiny smile twitch at his lips.

“Two smiles in one day, I think I’m on a roll!” Beverly laughed. She had an excessively friendly laugh. “So what’s that all about anyway? That you need a demon psychiatrist on your case?”

Will’s hand loosened slightly from his mug. 

“I’ve been having dreams.” 

Beverly lifted an eyebrow, “I’m guessing its more than just that, I’ve never had to see a psychiatrist about my dreams, and one of them is my grandpa’s boots chasing me.”

“Well, they’re about the case, but it _is_ more than that. I’m dreaming about evidence before we find it.”

“Like?”

Will sighed, “You know that piece of metal filing you found on Elise?” 

She nodded.

“The night before I dreamt about her body, and in the dream all these metal filings were falling off her.”

“Spooky,” Beverly said, sounding serious enough that Will didn’t think she was just making fun of him. 

“I’ve, I’ve been having small hallucinations too… antlers and things.”

“ _Small_ hallucinations?”

“It’s like, I know I’m hallucinating, but I can see past it into the real world, and it’s only a small part of the world that’s wrong.”

Beverly paused to let out a small whistle, “You alright Graham? That shit would be freaking me out if it happened to me.”

“I’m kind of used to seeing things I don't wan’t to see, you know.” He didn’t need to explain that that thought for her to be nodding in understanding. 

“I thought the dreams at least might be a coincidence, but Jack’s got this idea it might be because I’m something other than human. Doctor Lecter’s really just meant to help me figure that out.”

“More? Like what?”

“I don’t know. I’ve always been human I - I _am_ human, I just- I don’t know how I could be anything else.”

“Huh, well, being a Bong Wang’s a lot easier than all of that. You’re parents are Bong Wangs, and you’re a Bong Wang. Not much confusion to it.” There was a weird, almost teasing glint in Beverly’s eye now. Will had to ask.

“A Bong Wang?” He kept a straight face at least.

“Yep, a Bonghwang! That’s exactly what I am.” This time she pronounced more of the ‘h’ sound.

“Oh. Like a Fenghuang, you’re a Chinese Phoenix.”

“I’m Korean actually, Bonghwang is the Korean subset, but you’ve heard of us? Not that many Westerners know what I mean when I say what I am, it’s good for a laugh though,” She said with a chuckle. “You’ve got a good pokerface, barely twitched when I said it.”

Will felt himself smile when he realised what she was doing, trying to use humour to lift his dark mood and draw the conversation away from his problems. He let himself relax a little bit more.

“So what’s it like for you? I take it Bonghwang’s don’t get weird dreams all the time.” It could be considered rude or insensitive to question someone on their species, but Beverly had began the conversation herself, and she didn’t seem the type to be overly sensitive about that sort of thing.

“No, nothing like that, really good eyesight’s really the main thing. I mean, there’s also a tendency towards shiny objects, but we don’t need to go into that.” She winked at him, leaning even closer.

“Some people say we’re more lucky too, but I can’t say I’ve ever noticed being much luckier than the average. We’re not immortal either, despite the phoenix legends.”

“Yes, no one is immortal, we all know that here.” Everyone died, no matter there species, even the spirits and spectres able to inhabit the physical world had finite existences.

“Gloomy but true.” Beverly nodded sagely. “Hey, you wanna get a muffin? I hear the cafe across the road has the best in the state. Well, according to Jimmy, and that’s a claim I just have to investigate.”

“Oh, um, no I think I’m right,” Will began as Beverly pushed back her chair and stood, not feeling particularly hungry.

“You sure? Come anyway, pretty sure their coffee’ll be better than the weak stuff you get here,” she encouraged, and Will looked up at her friendly smile and open face. It had been… nice, to talk to her, and he didn’t have a lot of friends.

“Ok.”

“You’ll come! Awesome, maybe I can even make it to three smiles today.” She grinned, and Will couldn’t help the tiny upturn of his lips as he followed her out of the BAU building.

 

*

 

Will’s afternoon involved returning to the labs to hear the results of the few tests run on Elise’s body - inconclusive, and then being whisked off to another unrelated crime scene. The officer in charge wanting his opinion on the criminal. Will had felt rather awkward standing off to the side while Jack had argued that the profiler wasn’t able to deal with any other cases at the moment, and Will had eventually spoken up to say he would be fine just to stop the other man from shouting. He had never met anyone as stubborn as Jack, especially when the werewolf felt he was protecting something, whether that was Will himself or just his contributions to Jack’s case. He had worked multiple cases before, and from the officer’s brief description this scene would not be long or difficult. 

Thirty-five minutes later, Will was standing above the body of the victim, his boots just out of the small pool of blood and his mind already easily grasping the terror in the stab marks on their body.

The pendulum swung across his vision, but he barely needed his usual method to see what had happened. The victim, a large heavyset man, had approached his killer first, coming up behind them and been surprised by the set of sharp garden shears that had swung around and stabbed into his side. Will could feel the killer’s fear in the sharp movements, the way the stab marks were not so deep but where numerous, some almost certainly post-mortem.

“It was self defence,” he had told the detective running the scene, and had recommended they look for someone, probably a woman, who was skittish or otherwise showed signs of abuse. Will still felt twitchy with the killer’s fear and anxiety when he had left the scene, and nearly jumped when he felt his phone ring in his pocket.

It had been Doctor Lecter, smooth accent instantly recognisable, even over the phone, and they had arranged Will’s evaluation for Friday evening. Eight o-clock, after he had finished up at the BAU.

 _“I believe together we can find out what, precisely, you are Will.”_ The Doctor had said, and Will had fought a shiver at the demon’s intensity.

“I still think I’m human, I’ve had blood tests before, surely they would have picked up any variant DNA in those,” Will said, and then wondered if he should be saying that. If he _was_ human, then he would have to subject himself to further sessions where his mind would be analysed.

_“There are several ways in which you could be more than human that would not show in you’re DNA, surely you are aware?”_

“I know, I just…”

_“You hope to only be human. This is understandable Will, being human is all you have ever known.”_

“Easy there Doctor, you’re not my therapist yet.” Will said, then instantly wondered if that had been too rude. There was a chuckle through the phone though, so he relaxed slightly.

 _“Indeed I am not. I will endeavour to sound less therapeutic until such a time as I am performing the function for you then shall I?”_ There was the sound of a smile in the demon’s voice, and Will managed a chuckle of his own.

“That would be appreciated.”

_“But I would like to assure you that if you are something other than human, you will still find yourself to be acceptable. I have dealt before with patients discovering their species, and it is always preferable to have a sense of who you are.”_

“I suppose so.” Will ran a hand over his eyes, feeling tired as he eyed the time on his dashboard nearly six. “Sure. I’ve got to go though, got a long car trip back home.”

_“Of course. I look forward to seeing you on Friday, Will.”_

“Bye.”

_“Drive safely.”_

Will hung up the phone, and stared at the dark screen for a long moment. Their conversation had somehow managed to be both calming and anxiety-inducing. Will felt less nervous about their session, the Doctor seemed reasonable and less likely to insist on studying him like a strange specimen, but the reminder had also brought back his stress about the dreams and hallucinations. Will wasn’t sure what he hoped for anymore. For his life to be turned upside down with the discovery that he was something other than human. Or for his life to be turned upside down because he was human and something was wrong with his mind. Well, more wrong than was normal for him.

He released a breath, and ran a hand the the tangled curls on his head. Of course, if he would just stop having the dreams, then all of this could just go away.

 

Will didn’t stop having the dreams.

_The smell of blood filled his nostrils as he watched it drip down in a line in front of his face. At first he thought it was running along the edge of a pair of shears, but then the form resolved itself into the bone-white line of an antler. Will looked up, there was a body up there, hanging impaled on the sharp spikes of bone, blood dripping and running steadily down each tine._

_“Do you see?” Said a voice behind him. The voice of Elise’s killer. No, a different voice. Will turned attempting to see the speaker, but was distracted by the flutter of wings past his face. The swallow flew across his vision to land on one of the twisting, ivory antlers. It turned to face Will, and his heart rate jolted when the small bird suddenly burst into bright flames. With a blink the fire altered into blood, and the bird fell from its perch, un-charred but soaked in crimson._

_Will lifted a hand as though to catch the bird, but his fingers were covered in blood. It flowed between over his wrist, and he could hear a ringing in the back of his mind. Will stared unblinking at the blood now running in thick lines down his arms, his mind uncharacteristically blank of emotion. Only a lingering sense of clinging desperation that he knew was from Elise’s killer, though Wills heart was thumping in his chest, and the ringing was growing louder._

 

Will woke in confusion, taking a long moment to realise he was not still dreaming, and that the ringing was his phone left on his bedside table. He shivered under a light sheen of sweat, and reached across the bed in the predawn darkness for the source of the noise, fumbling several time before he was able to bring it to his ear.

_“Will,”_

“Jack?”

_“We’ve got another body.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like the second half of this chapter a lot more than the first half. Oh well. A tiny bit more Hannibal this time which is nice. Also I tried to write Beverly, but I'm not sure I got her quite right. She'll be appearing more in the story so I guess I'll have practice :P.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is another crime scene to look at. Will and Doctor Lecter have their meeting, and Will gets some idea of what he really is.

Antlers. Not as white as in his dream, but running sticky with blood all the same. The woman was naked and impaled over the twisting bone, not hung from them like Will was sure Elise had been. The dry grass of the field brushed against her hanging feet, and Zeller was shooing the black shapes of crows away from the body in the early morning light.

“The Stag head was reported stolen last night, about a mile from here.” Jack said from beside him, hands shoved deeply into coat pockets and dour expression on his face. “Minneapolis Homicide’s already made a statement. They’re calling him the Minnesota Shrike.”

“Like the bird.” Will guessed. He was glad it wasn’t a swallow, and that there was no fire involved.

“Shrike’s a perching bird. Impales mice and lizards on thorny branches and barbed wire. Rips their organs right out of their bodies, puts them in a little birdie pantry, and eats them later.” Price said, grinning at his own description. Will thought about the little swallow, bleeding, though not like this - this was… deliberate, lacking in practically any of the emotional context he felt from Elise’s body.

“I can’t tell whether the name is sloppy or actually shrewd.” Jack muttered under his breath.

“He wanted her found this way,” Will said, voicing his thoughts, “it’s petulant. I almost feel like he’s mocking her. Or mocking us.” He frowned.

“Where did all his love go?” Jack mused, but Will was already shaking his head.

“It’s not the same killer. Whoever tucked Elise into bed didn’t create this... picture.” He looked over at the body Zeller leaning in over the antlers.

“He took her lungs,” the forensic called out, then winced. “Pretty sure she was alive when he cut them out.”

Will shoved his hands deep into his own pockets, where he couldn’t see them shaking.

“Elise’s killer _loves_ women. He doesn’t - doesn’t want to destroy them. He wants to _consume_ them, take them into himself where he can keep some - some essence of them within him.” He waved a hand out at the corpse in front of them. The murderer’s contempt was strong enough to feel like a slap in the face. “This girl’s killer thought she was a _pig._ Saw her as meat only. Unworthy.”

Jack looked like he was going to contradict Will for a moment, then settled on “You think this was a copycat.”

Will nodded. “Elise’s killer had no interest in… in _displays._ With him its not about us or anyone else, he’s not making a statement. Its between him and the girl. So-” Will didn’t pause, allowing his mouth to follow along after his brain. “So he has a house, or a - a cabin - somewhere private, with an antler room.”

Will squeezed his eyes shut. In his mind hung Elise’s face, the faces of all the other girls pinned to Jack’s cork board. Antlers pushing themselves out of the board and the images.

“He has a daughter. The same age as the other girl’s. Same hair colour, height, weight - everything.” He felt the killers desperate love rise up in his gut. “She’s an only child, she’s leaving home soon. He can’t _stand_ the thought of losing her. She’s who its all about.”

He opened his eyes to Jack nodding slowly, as though cautious and trying not to startle Will away from his train of though. The werewolf gestured a hand over at the corpse, impaled in the field.

“And this copycat killer? Who is he?”

Will almost snorted at the simplicity. “Your everyday intelligent psychopath. A sadist. He’ll be very hard to catch. No traceable motive, there’ll be no patterns. He may never even kill this way again. He’s the complete opposite of Elise’s killer.”

Will’s hand pulled out of his pocket, and pressed up against his eyes, trying to force back the headache he could feel brewing on the horizon.

 

*

 

Doctor Lecter’s office building was tall and old, but well maintained. Will stood outside for a long time staring up at its silhouette against the grey sky of dusk. He dipped his hand into his pocket, pulled out the bottle of pain pills and swallowed two down before finally approaching the door. It was eight o-clock exactly as he entered the building and found the waiting room, and he had only just sat down in one of the chairs lined against the wall when the the wooden door across from him was opened.

“Will, come in, please.”

The Doctor was dressed in a plaid suit, which on anyone else would have looked awful but he somehow managed to make look elegant and expensive. He smiled at Will as he ushered him into his office. 

Will wasn’t sure what he had expected of Lecter’s office, but this wasn’t it. The few places he had been made to visit before had often been small, dingy, and even when they weren’t they had a certain clinical sterile-ness that always seeped into his skin and made him itch. 

Lecter’s office was large, and had an tastefulness and old-world style that seemed to reflect the psychiatrist. Dark wooden furniture, an expensive looking statuette of a deer, and above his head a second floor balcony, lined with shelves upon shelves of books. Part of him longed to hide away up there, amongst the books and away from all prying eyes.

“Nice place,” he murmured, feeling something was expected of him.

“I find most patients are more comfortable in a less stereotypical environment. Of course I have let my own aesthetic preferences influence my choices.” The Doctor’s accented voice hummed past Will’s ear as the other man took a seat.

Will eyed the chair across from the demon, but instead moved to the window. They were on the second floor, and the view out was of the street. He looked up at the darkening sky instead.

“Why don't you start by telling me about your dreams, Will. What you have been seeing.”

Right, the reason he was here.

“I’ve been dreaming about the victims, and the killers. That’s not unusual in itself, but these dreams are… they have facts that I don't find out about until later.” Will paused for a moment, then added. “I dreamt about you before I met you. Well, your eyes, they’re fairly distinctive.”

The Doctor smiled slightly, “Dreams are the realm of the unconscious mind, they often depict what lies only in our subconscious. The things we have only noticed on an unconscious level.”

Will tried to relax his tense shoulders as he pulled away from the window and dropped down into the chair - surprising comfortable - opposite the psychiatrist.

“Yet you believe that this is not what you are experiencing, correct?” Doctor Lecter continued after a moment.

“There is… I don't know,” Will hesitated, picking at the edge of his shirt, “It feels like too much to just be coincidence. The dreams feel different, more real. Then there’s the hallucinations of course,” his eyes glanced across the demon’s passive face before slipping back down to focus on the buttons of the other man’s suit.

“Ah yes, Jack Crawford mentioned your hallucinations. Would you tell me about them?”  
Will had to admit there was something soothing about the demon’s voice. It helped too that he was more difficult to read, not engulfing Will in the his emotions, and not eagerly pushing into Will’s head to untangle him.

“I can tell its a hallucination when it happens. But like the dreams they give me information I _shouldn't_ have. I saw blood dripping down from Elise Nichol’s room before I knew her corpse was up there, before I even knew where her room was.” Will knew his voice was speeding up, and clamped down on the frantic feeling he could sense brewing in his chest. No need to show all his crazy to the psychiatrist _just_ yet.

“You are nervous Will. You worry about what this might mean for you.” A statement, not a question.

“I don’t like psychiatrists, don’t like having my mind poked around in. I’m nervous just being here," Will snapped, then relented, “But you’re right, I’m worried about what it could mean. I’m broken enough as it is, this is just going to make it all worse.”

“So it is your empathy that concerns you.” The demon noted.

“Jack told you about that too I guess.” Will sighed, feeling tired - god he was always tired these days. Well, it wasn’t like he was sleeping well.

“What you have is _pure_ empathy, unadulterated by your own views and thoughts. You can assume the point of view of anyone - as easily as pouring water into a glass.”

“An empathy disorder.”

“An uncomfortable gift. Some minds you find yourself in might scare you.”

“I’m not scared of the killers I deal with Doctor Lecter,” Will looked up, hand pushing into his pocket and touching the bottle of aspirin again.

“I wasn’t suggesting that you were.” The demon crossed his legs and leant back, exuding an air of calmness. Will tried to focus on that stability, and felt his heart rate relaxing slightly in response.

“You’re suggesting that I am afraid of becoming like the killers. Or, no… Afraid I’m already like them,” Will wasn’t surprised, he knew the idea was at the back of everyone’s mind, at the back of Jack’s mind. He’d heard the quiet words whispered about him.

Lecter inclined his head slightly, “Are you afraid of what darkness might lurk within you? Do you think being only human is protecting you from it?”

“I-” Will stopped, frowning. That wasn’t what he thought… some of the worst atrocities he had seen had been committed by ‘only humans’. Being an other certainly wasn’t a precursor for evil. But…

“I’m afraid it might make everything in my mind more confused…” Will paused to put what his thoughts in order. “Werewolves have the instinct to hunt, vampires have a bloodlust, Seers barely have a grip on reality. I have enough trouble clinging to who I am as it is, without any extra influences.”

The Doctor smiled slightly, “Or perhaps knowing what you are, or what you might be becoming will help you better understand yourself.”

Will’s gaze pushed up again, catching in those red eyes, “What do you mean, _becoming_?”

“Many individuals find themselves altered through events in their life, often trauma can reveal otherwise recessive traits. Studies have shown external events are able to flip the genetic markers within our DNA.”

“I’m not _traumatised_ , Doctor.”

“No, but you have experienced great deals of trauma when empathising at crime scenes have you not?” Doctor Lecter paused, crimson eyes focused directly on Will, “However this is not what I meant. Would you say you have been empathising more often than usual? More emphatically?”

“I… perhaps. The current case is difficult to see. I have to embed myself in it more to understand.” Will thought of the way Elise’s killer left so little evidence, of the way he’d been forcing himself deeper into their psyche.

“I see.” The Doctor leaned forward a little, “Will, I would say your constant empathetic connection with others, coupled with your more extreme push into the mind of this killer, is exposing you to to the what could be called the psycholateral wave. The symptoms you’re experiencing are likely the result of dormant DNA being awakened.”

Will stared blankly at the Doctor. “… What?”

“You’re overuse of your empathy is changing you, and I believe you have a genetic predisposition to becoming some form of Psychosensitive. Like a clairvoyant, or yes, a seer.”

“So that’s what you think I am - am becoming? A Psychosensitive? You’re not exactly the first to diagnose me as such.” Will slumped back in his chair.

“Yes Will. I believe you are some form of Psychosensitive, what exactly however, I am not yet sure. Unlike what others may believe, you’re empathy is likely not a symptom, but a possible contributing factor.” The doctor said, seeming to sense Will’s hesitancy to trust his explanation. “Would you be willing to meet with me again Will? I would require further sessions to fully determine what you are becoming, and I believe my services might be useful to you.”

“I don’t want a therapist, Doctor. I’m pretty sure I made that clear in Jack’s office.” Will sighed.

“We could just be having talks, discussions, none of the psychiatric pushing that you are so afraid of.”

Will thought of the dreams, the hallucinations, the sleepless nights. The Doctor thought he was some kind of Psychosensitive. Human, but more than _just_ human. His fingers tapped along the side of the aspirin bottle in his pocket.

“Alright, we can meet again. Same time next week?”

The Doctor’s face lit up in the first full smile Will thought he had seen from the man. “But of course. If it continues to suit you.”

Will nodded, and then shifted in his chair. The clock had ticked past the half hour, and he needed to get home to his dogs.

“Oh and Will, in the interest of your trust in our conversations, you should know that your Jack Crawford requested I report you psychological situation back to him. It would, of course, be a breach of Doctor-Patient confidentiality if you were officially my patient, but as of the moment, you are not.”

Will shrugged, unsurprised at his bosses actions. The man was constantly trying to get Alana to have a session with him. “And what will you tell him?”

“The truth. That you are mentally healthy - or as healthy as one would expect of someone in your position, and I would be satisfied with our continued talks. I believe it would perhaps alleviate Jack’s worries of you.”

“I guess it might. He tries to hide it but he is concerned I might snap one of these days.” 

The Doctor stood, and Will followed, stretching out stiff muscles with a light groan as he was guided to the door.

“I will endeavour to allay his fears. Until next time, Will.” 

Will nodded and left, feet slow on the sidewalk back to his car. So he was something more than human after all… or was in the process of becoming it. Doctor Lecter had been… manageable at least, though Will felt the man had aspects lurking beneath his surface veneer of politeness and class. Though Will certainly appreciated the demon’s ability to close himself off from a lot of Wills empathy. It left more space for his own thoughts. 

Perhaps it was a demon thing he thought, as he reached his car and unlocked the door, either way he _was_ more comfortable with the doctor than any other psychiatrists he had been forced to deal with. Just as well considering he would apparently be seeing the man more often.

Will sighed, and in the darkness inside his car, closed his eyes for a moment; bloody feathers fluttering just behind his lids.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am sorry, for two reasons.  
> 1\. I'm back at uni now so uploads will be slower.  
> 2\. This chapter was not as edited as I would like, and not as good as I hoped...  
> But anyway! Hope you enjoyed some more Hannibal time! and yes, they will get to a first name basis soon... haha


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alana also exists. Will goes to Minnesota to look for Elise's killer. Hannibal is there too.

“Thank you for this,” Will said awkwardly, standing barefoot on his porch. 

Alana smiled, leaning down to scratch behind Buster’s ears “It’s no trouble, and I enjoy spending time with your dogs, and giving you a lift to the airport is easy enough.”

“I should only be gone for the night, two at most. Their food is in the cupboard-”

“-under the counter,” Alana laughed, “I have done this before you know.”

Will smiled ruefully. “I know, sorry I’m just…”

“Got your mind on other things?” Alana looked up, her red coat bright in the midday light.

“Yeah, you’ve heard about my _diagnosis_ , I suppose.”

“I have heard some things,” Alana began carefully, “A Pyshcosensitive, some people would love it, we know better though, don't we?” she said kindly.

Will’s mouth quirked up. “Yeah, I’d be unwilling to even believe it if I had a choice.” Winston nosed against his pants and he gave the dog a rub behind the ears.

“I know this wasn’t what you wanted, I’m sorry Will,” Alana said, with sincerity and just a touch of pity plastered to her face.

Will shrugged, “I’m… getting used to the idea. Slowly.” He glanced up at Alana’s eyes for a moment then added “Hey, do you know what a psycho… psycholateral wave is?” He recalled the word the Doctor had used.

“Yes, it’s a scientific term for, I guess you would call it the average mental leakage into the world. Our thoughts and feelings bleed into the air around us. Psychosensitives are often sensitive to the wavelength, and can pick up on some of that leakage. It’s how telepaths work.”

“Thanks, Doctor Lecter said my empathy was exposing me to it. Um, unlocking dormant DNA,” he said, looking up at Alana for confirmation.

She nodded thoughtfully, “He didn’t think your empathy was because of it?”

“No, he said it was,” Will paused to remember, “A _contributing_ _factor_ rather than a symptom.”

“I see,” Alana gave a small smile, “I trust Hannibal Lecter’s insights Will, he was my mentor at John Hopkins, and he’s always greatly understood the links between the mind and species. You’re lucky to have him looking after you.”

Will held back a snort. That wasn’t exactly how he was inclined to describe their meetings.

“Yeah, real lucky with my choice of brain picker.”

Alana frowned, “Really Will, I hope you’ll at least try to make an effort.”

He managed a brittle, false smile, “Yeah, don’t worry. I’m going to keep up with it. Got to at least find out what I am first right?”

Something must have shown on his face because Alana’s expression shifted into one of sympathy, and she stepped forward to wrap an arm around him. Will froze in surprise as her hair brushed softly past his face and he breathed in her subtle perfume.

“You’ll be ok Will. I’m sure of it.” The hug ended and Alana stepped back again.

“Um thanks.” Will shuffled his bare feet. Something moved in the air behind her shoulder, and he stiffened again, looking out past her face. Antlers, on top of a deer. He blinked hard - just another hallucination, he could tell. It was too dark in colour for an ordinary stag, and its antlers seem too big, too twisted. The creature lifted its head to stare straight at him, and its body seemed to shimmer in the air around the edges, half real - half mirage. 

“Everything ok?” Alana gave him a worried look, then turned to follow his gaze, glancing back over her shoulder.

“Its fine,” he said quickly, ignoring the vision, “We should get going now though, they’re expecting me in Minnesota by tonight.” He turned back into the house to grab his bag and slip on a pair of shoes. Alana gave him a concerned look but let it drop.

“Thank you again for looking after the dogs, and giving me a lift,” he said as he gave a last pat to a few furry snouts.

“Its no trouble, Will,” she smiled, leading the way to her small, silver car.

 

*

 

The plane ride, though short, rattled Will’s brain inside his head, and he landed with a splitting headache and a handful of pain meds already in his system. He caught a taxi to the motel, and would meet up with Jack and Doctor Lecter in the morning to go looking for construction sites where their killer might work. The information on the metal filing had come through, and they now had a fairly comprehensive list of all the sites within the area that it might have come from. The Doctor had apparently been invited to tag along. Will had expected the man to turn up on a case again. Jack was always ready to get more expert opinions, and had apparently been impressed by Lecter’s comments on the Nichol’s case.

The faded red door of the motel clicked open under his hand, and Will entered the darkened interior of the room, dropping his bags onto the bed, and slumping into the chair by the window. The curtains were closed, but a sliver of bright white light from the streetlight outside cut across to illuminate a stripe along the table. He sighed.

The back of his neck itched and his head ached as he dropped it down onto the table, forehead pressed against the cool surface. He felt muddled. Out of step. Like he wasn’t entirely inside his own head.

Will thought of Elise’s killer. The man who had choked and bled and gutted a girl with so much love. Who had done the same to all the other missing girls. Will could feel the desperate kind of restlessness he knew the killer was now experiencing, building up behind his own breastbone. He felt ill. Felt like the killer was underneath his own skin, and if he lost concentration he would forget who he was.

Will groaned, scrubbing his hands over his face in an effort to loosen his thoughts, and distracted himself with a shower, running the water hot across his skin. Steam caressed his neck, and for a moment it felt like a damp breath. In the corner of his eye he saw antlers, outlined against the yellowed tiles on the wall. He closed his eyes and lifted his face to the spray.

A sick feeling roiled in his stomach. His muscles tensed, almost without his will and he felt anxiety leaking into his pores. Deep breaths. Will shivered under the hot water as he tried to calm himself, release the killers emotions from their entanglement in his brain. Two killers really, the copycat also had a little place in his head. All cold calculation and contempt and amusement. It clashed uncomfortably with the desperate emotions of the first killer.

And Elise’s killer _was_ getting desperate, knew the FBI were closing in. Knew he was running out of time. For a second Will stared blankly at the tiles in front of his face. They were the wrong colour.

He shook his head, running a hand up through his damp hair. No, they were yellow, they had always been yellow. He was in a motel in Duluth, Minnesota. The tiles here were yellow.

His head throbbed, and he groaned, shutting off the water and stumbling out of the shower. Where had he left the bottle of aspirin? He dug around in his bag until he found the painkillers, shaking hands dropping out two more of the little white pills and lifting them to his face. He swallowed, and allowed himself to stumble back into the bathroom to find a towel. His skin felt wrong. Stress pushed up against his bones.

Will’s stomach rolled, and he suddenly felt too hot, and then too cold. He blanched, and rushed to the toilet, leaning over the bowl and emptying his stomach. It was mostly bile, he hadn’t eaten since breakfast, with two little white pills floating in the mess.

“Crap,” he croaked, resting his head against the cool porcelain as his stomach slowly settled again. 

There was the sound of hooves on tiles behind him, and he shook his head. Refusing to look.

“Not you too,” he muttered pressing his aching head further against the porcelain.

Will wasn’t sure how long he stayed on the floor, before finally stumbling back into the main room to dress himself - boxers and a shirt - and falling onto the bed.

 

*

 

Bright yellow light speared across the room to fall as a point of sharpness against the wall. Will stared at it with bleary eyes, having barely slept the entire night. He had tossed and turned in the bed for hours. Mind caught up in the killer’s, half afraid that if he fell asleep he wouldn’t wake up as himself. Half afraid he would dream. He had found himself struggling with the thoughts of murderers before, but rarely this bad.

He had forced himself into this killer’s mindset too often with too little evidence and now he was feeling the effects, and paying the price.

He had managed a restless half-sleep for an hour or so around dawn, and his head had been filled with antlers, and birds on fire, and blood. He had forced himself back awake, the taste of copper in his mouth.

At nearly seven he gave up pulling himself out of the bed and stumbling to the window. Grimacing in pain as he pulled the curtains open just enough to let in the bright morning light.

His headache had abated slightly, and was now only an ignorable pinch at the back of his skull. He wouldn’t take any more pain pills until he had eaten, not wanting a repeat of last night, especially with the coils of stress still sitting heavy in his stomach.

There was a knock on the door, Right, Jack was coming. He moved over to unlock it, opened it enough to see out while not letting too much light in to assault his eyes. Outside stood Doctor Lecter, hand still raised to knock at the wood.

“Where’s Jack?”

The demon raised an eyebrow, “Good morning Will. Jack is deposed in court, the adventure shall only be yours and mine today, I am afraid.” There was a pause, and then, “May I come in?”

Will didn’t feel up to answering, merely opening the door wider and stepping back to make room.

“Are you aware that I did not actually knock on the door, Will,” came the Doctor’s voice as Will walked back into the gloom of the room.

“What? No, I heard you.” Will stopped, and turned back to the other man.

“I was about to knock on the door, I did not actually perform the act.” Lecter paused, the light from the still open door illuminating his silhouette.

Will stared for a moment before letting out a quite groan rubbing a hand up through the mess of hair on his head.

“You think it was this psycholateral wavelength thing you were talking about. Don't you?”

The Doctor inclined his head, “Indeed. I believe you were subconsciously picking up on my intents through that medium.”

“Its too early for you to start digging into my head, Doctor.” Will muttered, then looked down at the plastic container the other man was carrying. “What’s that?”

“Food. I’m very careful about what I put into my body, which means I end up preparing most meals myself. A simple protein scramble to start the day.”

“You brought us breakfast.” Will’s stomach had settled, and he suddenly felt ravenous as he remembered the last time he had eaten had been over yesterday morning.

He dug out a couple of plates and placed them on the small table by the window, gesturing for the demon to take a seat. He did, and carefully unloaded the food into equal portions. Will took a moment to watch the Doctor’s movements, before bringing over the forks and sitting in his own seat, slumping down slightly as he did so. Doctor Lecter’s calm presence helped to settle him, helped lay the thoughts of killers to rest for a little while. The food was amazing. Still hot and savoury, the eggs and sausage both moist and fluffy.

“Thank you, it’s delicious,” he said, around a mouthful of food. Maybe it was just his hunger making the food taste better, but he was sure it was the best thing he’d had in several weeks. He didn’t make much of an effort to cook for himself at home if he was being honest.

Lecter smiled over his own plate, a pleased glint in his eyes. “My pleasure.”

“I would apologise for my analytical ambush while we are on the job, so to speak, but I am afraid I would be apologising again, so I must use my apologies sparingly,” the demon said, a playful tilt to his words.

“Yeah, we can just try to keep it professional.”

“Or we could try to socialise like adults, god forbid we become friendly.” There was that same, almost too-intense glint in Lecter’s eyes as he spoke.

“I’m not good at friends,” Will said slowly, trying to remain polite. There was the clip clop of hooves again, and the dark shape of the stag stepped out behind the doctor. Will ignored it.

“We shall see.” After a few more bites of his food the Doctor continued. “Our Jack Crawford tells me you have a knack for the monsters. What do you make of this one?”

“Well, he didn’t kill that girl in the field. I know that much.”

“Yet both kills had such a similar modus operandi. How many murderers impale their victims on deer antlers?” Lecter mused.

“It’s… everything was wrong. On the surface it looks the same, but when you get deeper, its nothing like Elise Nichol’s killer.”

“ _The devil is in the details,_ What didn’t your copycat do to the girl in the field. What gave it away?” The Doctor asked, curiosity evident in his tone.

“Everything. It was like seeing a negative image, and it showed all the positives. That crime scene was practically gift wrapped for me to see.” He rubbed his hands across his face.

“Do you reconstruct this killer’s fantasies? What kind of problems does Nichol’s killer have?” Lecter leaned closer across the table.

“He’s got a few.” That was something Will knew. Having felt the swirling desires of that mind for the last few hours.

“And what about your problems Will, how are your dreams holding up?” Ah. There was the psychiatrist looming its head again. Will decided to forgive it this time.

“Hm, same as usual. None last night but that’s more because I didn’t sleep,” Will answered quietly.

“And the hallucinations?”

Will shrugged. Eyes on the deer standing behind the demon. In this light he could see the raven feathers that covered it instead of fur along parts of its back and withers.

“What about you Doctor? You want us to be friends, why don't you tell me something about yourself.” Will’s eyes caught in pools of red for a moment before he pulled them away again.

The demon’s lips quirked up in a smile. “If we _are_ to be friends, I would prefer you call me Hannibal. What would you like to know?”

Will shrugged again. “I don't know, how about…” he fished around, “When were you born?”

“I was born in the early eighteen hundreds. Around eighteen twenty. In Lithuania.”

Will nodded, the demon certainly seemed older than he appeared. Something about the set of his eyes spoke of a confidence and knowledge only possessed by those who had lived a long time.

“Demons like myself of course, can easily live for several centuries.” Hannibal continued.

“And when did you become a demon?” Will asked, thinking back on the fairly sparse information he had on the species. Demons were rare, few humans had the strength to survive the change with their minds in tact.

“When I was around twelve.”  
Will looked up in surprise at the other man, who stared back passively, eyes pits of darkness and swirling crimson.

“Oh,” Will fidgeted with his hands, having finished the food as they were talking. So young. Demons were born from chaos and pain, and to become one at twelve… Will suddenly felt guilty for asking.

As if sensing his discomfort, the Doctor leant forwards. “Do not feel bad for your questions. As I am prying into your life, you have the right to know some of mine.” For the briefest second the demon’s long fingers rested on the back of Will’s hand, and then the other man was standing.

“Come, the day awaits and we have work to do.” Again there was that teasing glint in Hannibal’s eyes, and Will stood to watched the other man busy himself with cleaning the table. He shook himself out of his thoughts, and moved to get dressed. The back of his neck prickling as the stag’s eyes followed him around the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hmmmmmm. Yep. I don't know. Interesting things should be happening next chap though.  
> Also the comment button exists if ya wanna tell me what you thought of this haha.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will and Hannibal investigate a construction site('s paperwork), and follow a lead to a suspects house.

Will’s rented car rolled to a stop at the first construction site on their list, just outside of Duluth. He glanced over at Hannibal who had a slight smile on his face.

“What’s got you so happy?” Will asked, turning his gaze back out to the dirty paddock, lined with large pieces of pipe and with a portable on-site office smack in the middle.

“Peaking behind the curtain, I’m just curious how the FBI goes about its business when it’s not kicking in doors, and is checking out fields instead.”

Will held back a chuckle, “You’re lucky we’re not doing house-to-house interviews. We found a little piece of metal in Elise Nichols’ clothes, Identified it as a shred from a pipe threader, so that led us here.”

“There must be hundreds of construction sites all over Minnesota. Shall we visit them all?” The Doctor turned his red tinted gaze to Will, and Will resolutely ignore the cracks creeping across the window behind the man’s head. Following the lines of antlers. Just a hallucination, everything was fine.

“A certain kind of metal, a certain kind of pipe, a certain kind of pipe coating. We’re only checking all the sites that use that kind of pipe. Narrowed it down to five.”

“And what exactly _are_ we looking for?” Hannibal asked.

“At this stage? Anything peculiar, but anything really.” He shrugged at the vagueness of his own words. “We don’t really have much to go on.”

Hannibal nodded, and got out of the car. Will waited a moment before following. The Doctor was… pleasant enough company, if Will was being honest with himself. Though there was still the sense that Will was looking only at the calm surface of water. Deep underneath sharks were swimming. 

He approached the small construction office, and flashed his badge to the lady inside. She didn’t seem happy about it, but gave them access to the site’s files, and they got to work, looking over the boxes of paper as the woman spoke to someone on the phone, complaining about them.

Will was sorting through a pile of resignation papers when something caught in his mind. He stopped, the sheet of paper turned red in his hand, blooming out from the centre as though suddenly soaked in blood, and he nearly dropped it. The lines and text of the page were horribly familiar, and he remembered dreaming of a stream, the first dream he had had of the little bird, and the paper that was also a knife. He hadn’t been able to read that sheet then, but he knew without a doubt it was the same one.

He read the name at the top of the page.

“Garrett Jacob Hobbs,” He looked questioningly up at the lady, who sighed.

“He’s one of our pipe threaders. Those are all the resignation letters. Union requires them whenever members finish a job.” Will nodded, the pieces slotting together inside his head.

“Did Hobbs have a daughter?” He felt like he barely needed to ask, the answer already settled like sick knowledge inside his bones.

The woman shrugged, “I don’t know, maybe. I don't keep company with these people.”

It was enough. Will could sense it on the paper. The scribbled words crawling under his eyes. For a moment he was sure it was his _own_ handwriting, but then shook his head of the thought.

“What is it about Garret Jacob Hobbs that you find so peculiar?” Hannibal leaned over his shoulder, peering down at the resignation letter. 

“Didn’t leave an address,” Will began slowly, it was suspicious in itself, what did the man have to hide there? But it was the hallucination that made Will so sure, and he didn’t want to admit that right now to his official-unofficial psychiatrist.

“Therefore he has something to keep hidden?” Hannibal extrapolated, following Will’s own line of thought.

“All the others left addresses. It’s… odd enough that he didn’t. It would have been a conscious choice, and what other reasons would he have to not give it?” He turned to the woman.

“We’ll need to take these boxes, and do you have Hobbs’ address anywhere else?”

The woman rolled her eyes, but dug around until she produced a file of addresses, and then helped Will and Hannibal carry box after box out to his car. Wanting them out of her hair as soon as possible. 

He did not look forward to the paperwork he was setting himself up for, and nearly visibly winced as the boxes filled the boot of the car, but it had to be done. His hands began to feel damp, and for a moment he was sure he was leaving blood smeared across the cardboard of the boxes, but no, it was fine. One of the boxes slipped from his grasp onto the ground as Hannibal passed it down to him, and Will ducked his head in embarrassment, squatting to pick up the scattered papers.

He was glad when Hannibal made no comment, the demon simply returning inside the office to grab another of the boxes.

“We should visit Hobbs now, since we’re in the area, see what we can find,” he said to Hannibal as they got back into the car. The demon inclined his head.

“Very well.”

The drive to Hobbs’ residence was quiet but Will’s skin itched, and he grew more and more tense as the same sickness from last night crept up in his stomach. The trees lining the streets seemed to grow taller in the corner of his eyes. Looming over him with long, spindly branches.

There was the soft breathing of the stag in his ear, and he ignored it, gaze resolutely fixed forward out the windscreen. His hands started to tremble as they pulled into the curb by the suspect’s house, and his head started to ache again.

Will’s fingers pushed into his pocket to retrieve the bottle, and he tried to ignore the Doctor’s passive-but-concerned gaze as he swallowed down two of the pills. He got out, walked towards the house, eyes scanning the suburban architecture with its tall trees and the nicely painted walls. He had made it three steps when he nearly fell over from the sudden, inexplicable stab of fear and desperation. He grunted, one hand clenching into a fist as the front door of the house was forced open, and a woman was pushed out, her pained cries catching at his mind. Will reacted, pushing back the threatening walls of confusion and running to her as she sprawled across the concrete patio.

Blood was a red splash across her neck and down her front, and Will was gasping for breath even as he fell to his knees beside her, trying to assess the damage. A ragged cut across her throat pulsed with fresh blood even as he tried to put pressure on the wound. His hands slipping and sliding in the mess as she gurgled, unable to breath. Will’s hands shook, and he didn’t know what to do. Trying to stop the bleeding but even so he could tell it was hopeless. 

She was loosing too much blood, too fast, and Will couldn’t slow it, couldn’t help. Hobbs was inside still, he had caught a glimpse of the man as he pushed the woman - his wife - out to slow him down. Had recognised the man’s face as if it had been his own, and knew he didn’t have time. None of them had time anymore.

The woman stopped struggling for breath beneath him, and Will’s breathing came harsh and his hands shook herder as he realised she was dead. Glassy eyes staring blankly up at him even when moments before they had been shifting around in terror. The skin slippery and wet beneath his fingers as he removed them. He nearly doubled over at the sudden chill that swept his body, the constriction of his muscles and the sick feeling roiling in his belly, but managed to keep a grip on it as he stumbled to his feet. Vaguely aware of Hannibal approaching him across the grass. 

There was no time as his hands slipped on the pistol he had strapped to his belt this morning. Fumbling to pull it out and raise it. Didn’t think he’d need it, just had it for show so had grabbed it anyway. Well, he was shockingly thankful for a mad, hysterical moment.

The front door flew open beneath his foot and he entered the interior of the house, dark and horribly familiar for all that he had never seen it before.

“Garret Jacob Hobbs! FBI!” he shouted past the sick lump in his throat, training kicking in and voice shaky, hands trembling and the point of the gun shaking in front of his face. Adrenaline filling his veins with cold tension. 

There was a whimpering noise and he followed it into the kitchen where Elise’s killer held a knife to another girl’s throat, his daughter, the one it had all been about. She was struggling, whimpering in terror as her father held a blade to her skin. The man adjusting his grip, to get the slash right. Will stepped forwards, gun raised high, shoulders tensed. Hobbs was hunched over the shoulder of the girl, but he was also in the corner slumped against the kitchen counter and flickering in and out of existence. There was blood on the floor. There was blood on Will. His gun weaved back and forth and in his moment of confusion the killer dragged the knife across his daughter’s throat in one sharp movement, blade lifting up into the air in a shower of scarlet. Will didn’t have time to think, pulled the trigger, watched the bullet slam into Hobbs’ shoulder as the girl fell and the man staggered back. He didn’t look at Will though, eyes still on the daughter who had hit the floor, knife raised to finish the job.

He had to kill her, couldn’t leave her in pain. He just had to do it before he was dead. Hobbs’ emotions, thoughts and drives washed over Will in a wave so harshly he nearly staggered backwards. Instead he stepped closer, shot again, and again, and again barely flinching when the knife arced towards him and sliced through his forearm, his finger pulling on the trigger until the man was forced back against the bench, strength leached from his body with each successive shot. 

Will’s own body felt like it was failing. He felt covered in blood, felt like his throat was torn open and his torso perforated. He followed the man to the floor as he sunk down against the linoleum, filling the corner Will had half seen him in moments before. Will collapsed to his knees but he didn’t have time for the killer now he was no longer a threat. The girl was bleeding out on the floor, head tilted towards her father, a vaguely confused expression on her otherwise frightened face as Will’s slick hands tried to cover the wound on her neck. Not all the way across like her mother’s, only cutting through one side, Hobbs not having got the right angle in his rush.

His already crimson-soaked fingers slipped and slid on her skin as he tried to apply pressure, gaze pulled up to Hobbs as the man’s mouth opened, Will felt like he was falling into the black, bloody hole. Being consumed.

“See… See.” The lips moved and pulled into a smile, a mocking smirk, and Will didn’t know if he was hallucinating again or not. Surely there weren't antlers impaling the girl on the ground, as she gasped to breathe past the blood filling her throat. Surely her blood, spreading out across the floor wasn’t flickering with fire.

“No-no-no-no-no,” the litany filled his ears and only when the sound paused as he gasped did he realise it came from him. The girl dying beneath his hands as blood washed down over him and the bird. It fluttered, broken on the ground, and then it was the girl again, head tilting back to the side as Will tried desperately to keep his hands a steady pressure. Then there was the flash of a brown suit in from of him, and Hannibal was crouching down, large hand lifting his own, trembling - useless - hands out of the way and covering the wound in a professional hold. The girl’s gurgling, bubbling noises ceased as she drew in a rattling, wet, breath, and Will tried to look past the blood splattering his vision.

“I have called an ambulance, they shall be here soon.” Will heard the voice, the soft accent, but could barely understand the words. They flitted about his head like feathers, like spinning drops of blood. Rushed past his ears like a rising river.

He didn’t know how much time passed before the siren of the ambulance pushed into his ears and he stood numbly, following as the girl was loaded onto a gurney. Padding held tightly around her neck, and Hannibal fitting in seamlessly with the teaming paramedics. There was a police car, no cars, and policemen milling around. How had they driven through all the water? It was up his waist, dragging against his legs as he carefully skirted the dead woman on the steps. Except no, she wasn’t there anymore, she had been loaded onto another gurney.

Will was in pain, he could feel nothing, he could feel everything. Antlers pushed up through the ground, and he fell forwards to meet them. The stag’s soft breath against his face the last thing he felt before blessed darkness closed over him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so excited to upload this chapter, it was a lot of fun to write and I'de been thinking about it since I started this story :D  
> I hope you guys enjoyed it too


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will wakes up. Will talks to some people.

_Will stood in a hospital room, looking down at the girl, who was both girl and bird at the same time. She sat up in the bed, sheets gathered around her waist and hospital gown too large on her slender frame. Will watched as she lifted a hand, which burst into flame. She gave it a critical eye, but didn’t seem too concerned by the too-bright orange flames that ran up and down her fingers._

_“See.”_

_Will looked sideways at a man beside him, except he wasn’t a man, he was a pillar of churning water, no, of blood. The red maw opened and said, “Do you see? Will. What do you see?” Will shook his head, nothing made sense, he didn’t understand. The blood-man’s mouth stretched into a grin, “let me help you,” a hand stretched out towards Will and he flinched away-_

 

Will jerked awake on the bed, the taste of coppery blood fading from his tongue. He felt disorientated, and stared listlessly up at the white ceiling above him, before tilting his head to the side to observe his surroundings. A hospital room, not unlike the one he had just dreamt of. He let out a soft groan, and sat up enough to find a bandage on his forearm, he couldn’t quite remember why it was there, his thoughts clouded and heavy.

With an arm lifting the thin blanket he was covered with, he discovered he was no longer in his clothes from before, the common hospital gown had replaced them, though he was relieved to find he was still in his underclothes. Will tried to grasp where his clothes _were_ , and remembered blood. So much blood. His clothes had probably been so dirty they had been taken away.

There had been… Garret Jacob Hobbs. They had found the killer, and Will had killed him even as the daughter bled out on the floor. Was she alive? The thought spurred him to sit up straighter, swinging his legs over the side of the bed, bare feet tapping down against the ground. He paused as a sudden lightheadedness rushed up his body.

The door opened, and an unfamiliar man entered, followed by Doctor Lecter.

“Mr. Graham, you’re awake! Please, lie back down, we don't want you straining yourself.”

“I’m fine,” he muttered, despite the dizziness, but allowed himself to be guided back onto the bed.

“I’m Doctor Strauss. How are you feeling?” the unfamiliar man asked.

“I’m ok, but… what happened?” He directed his gaze to Hannibal as the other man fussed over him.

“I’m led to believe you passed out at a crime scene. As you were involved in an altercation, and were injured, you were brought to the hospital. We simply stitched closed the wound on your arm and kept you for observation.” The Doctor smiled down at Will with a kind of distracted worry, and Will’s empathy easily latching onto the way Strauss’s hands fussed, and how he spoke just faster than needed. He no doubt had many more patients to see to, who were more in need than Will.

“You had an episode after saving Abigail Hobbs’ life. It seems you were experiencing a state of vivid hallucination before you collapsed,” Hannibal added to the other Doctor’s explanation, approaching the bed to stand at Will’s side.

Will latched on to part of the demon’s words, “The girl, she's ok?”

Lecter smiled down at him, “She is in a medically induced coma, but she will be fine, thanks to your quick actions.”

Will recalled the recoil of the gun in his hands, again and again, and the sensation of bullets piercing his skin despite it not actually occurring to _him_.

“Perhaps we could talk in private,” Hannibal said, but directed his words to Doctor Strauss, “Doctor-patient confidentiality of course.”

“Yes, of course. Just call for the nurse if you need me, Mr. Graham,” Doctor Strauss said, before leaving, shutting the door behind him.

“I’m not actually your _patient_ , Hannibal,” Will frowned up at the demon.

The corners of the other man’s eyes crinkled again in a small smile as he pulled the chair next to the bed closer, lowering himself into it. “That is true, but I thought you would be more comfortable discussing events in private.”

Will slumped back against the pillows, giving in. “It was… I didn’t even know what was real, and it was like I was seeing the present and the future and the past - all at once.” He remembered Hobbs, fallen in the corner of his kitchen, and remembered seeing him there before he had even shot the man. And hallucinating the wife on the steps even after she had been moved, so strongly that he had been sure she was still there.

Hannibal’s hand reached out, and Will flinched back slightly, but it only came to rest across his forehead. The demon’s skin was warm and dry over his own, and Will found himself relaxing into the touch. Fingers stroked back over his hair and then were gone.

“You are warm, but not dangerously so. It does not seem these symptoms were caused by illness,” was the Doctor’s comment, and Will shrugged.

“I tend to run hot.”

“You were hallucinating when you shot Garret Jacob Hobbs?” Hannibal asked.

“Yes, I saw things from my dreams, birds, fire, water, I felt like I was covered in blood… I felt like every injury anyone else had, was happening to me.” He frowned, remembering his own terror, remembering the way his hands had slipped across the daughter’s throat, unable to stop the bleeding. “I shouldn’t have reacted like that, should have been able to help the girl - Abigail.”

Hannibal leaned closer, a placating expression gilding his features. 

“You have an extremely high degree of empathy Will, with or without your psychosensitive nature. You would have been under a great deal of stress in those circumstances - your mind believed you experienced mortal wounds, even death, and yet you still managed to function and perform admirably under the conditions.” There was that intense gleam in the Doctor’s eyes again.

Will was quiet for a moment, remembering the shocking cold when the wife had died, and the stickiness of her blood.

He shrugged again. He still felt the echoes of death clinging to his skin, still wasn’t entirely sure what he was seeing was real.

“You said you didn’t sleep the night before, is that correct?” Lecter continued.

“Um, no, I didn’t,” Will hesitated, “What does that have to do with it?”

“Tiredness could have contributed to your lack of control, but I believe the fact that you did’t sleep is related to what, precisely, you are.”

“Oh?” Will sat up straighter in the bed, eyes dancing across the other’s face.

“Indeed. Your dreams and hallucinations seem highly symbolic, and you do not seem to be solely tapping into the minds of others across the psycholateral wavelength, but instead report seeing across temporality. This points away from a simple telepathic, or even clairvoyant, base. No, the key I think, is in your dreams.”

“My dreams.” Will felt tired, and his arm throbbed slowly under the blanket.

“Yes, I imagine what you see and learn touches everything else in your mind, reaches into your dreams, as it does to us all. But it is _your_ dreams, when your unconscious mind is in control and your barriers lowered, that allow you to see these visions of the truth.”

Will pushed back against the pillows under the demon’s intense eyes.

“So what do you think I am then?”

“I simply do not know yet,” the Doctor shrugged apologetically, “I do have suspicions, but I would not want to confuse you with them if I am wrong.”

Will turned away, resisting the urge to demand answers, and silence prevailed for several minutes. Will fiddled with the thin sheet stretched over his legs.

“The girl is a pyromancer,” he said at last. It came to him as knowledge already formed, perhaps something he had even known from the start. The dreams of fire, the feelings inside of Hobbs all reflected it as truth.

“Should I get Agent Crawford?” Hannibal asked, gesturing to the door, “I suspect he is still around.”

“Jack’s here? I should go talk to him-” Will struggled to sit up again, but Lecter’s hand on his shoulder kept him still.

“No need, he can come here. I wouldn’t want you to strain yourself so soon after your episode.”

Will glared, “There’s nothing wrong with me! I’m fine, just a cut on my arm and a little light headedness.”

Hannibal raised a placating hand, “Very well, at least let me help you stand.”

Will rolled his eyes but accepted the hand at his elbow, guiding him up into a sitting position, while he ignored the warmth of it through his clothes.

He made it to standing, secretly grateful for the support as his legs felt weak beneath him, and paused.  
“Um, are my clothes around here somewhere?” He didn’t particularly want to walk around in just a flimsy hospital gown. Certainly didn’t want to see Jack while dressed like that.

“You are in luck. They were washed, and brought back some twenty minutes ago, though I believe there are still blood stains on them. They should do for now, however.” The Doctor gestured to a pile by the bed, and Will realised it was a bundle of his clothes.

“Right, um. Thanks, could you turn around for a second?” He asked.

“Of course.” There was the slightest of smirks on the Doctors face as he turned to face the door. Will ignored it and changed quickly. The plaid shirt and pants were still slightly damp, but better than nothing. He tried not to look too hard at the rust coloured stains around the sleeves and splattered across the cloth. His shoes were also at the end of the bed, and he slipped those on as well.

“Ok, lets go.”

Hannibal turned and supported his elbow again as they walked to the door, emerging from the room and out into the hallway.

“I believe Jack Crawford was outside Abigail’s room, last I saw him. We should head in that direction,” Hannibal said softly, nodding to a passing nurse. The woman’s emotions, her sense of business-like efficiency flowed over Will as usual, but he felt numb to it, washed out.

He lowered his head to the ground, simply following along behind the Doctor as he led the way through the halls of the building. Fitting in with the passing people in a way that Will knew he never could.

“Will! you look like shit.” The voice was Beverly’s, and he looked up to see her lounging on the chair next to a closed door. She grinned up at him, all friendly energy, and Will felt a slight lightening in his chest.

“Bev.” He nodded.

“Will has been through quite the ordeal, he cannot be expected to look at his best.” Hannibal frowned at Beverly, and Will was suddenly reminded of the other man’s hand still at his elbow. He pulled away to stand on his own.

“Of course, I’ve heard all about your daring feats of heroism,” she smiled, but her hand was gentle as it touched his arm. “You alright?”

Will nodded, and tried a smile, pretty sure it came out as rather strained. “I’m ok.”

“Good. Jack’s inside,” she hooked a thumb over her shoulder to the room behind her, “Though if he’s waiting for the Hobbs girl to wake up he’ll be there for a while. Doctor said she wouldn’t be up for at least another few hours, possibly even days.”

Will nodded, and entered the room, Hannibal following like a shadow behind him. 

Jack was a foreboding presence at the foot of the bed, body turned to face Alana who sat in the bedside chair. He turned to face Will as he entered, face pulled into a frown.

“Will, how are you feeling?” He asked.

“As good as can be expected. How is she?” Will looked down at the girl in the bed, small against the sheets. Her brown hair spread out across the pillow and a thick bandage wrapped around her neck. His own neck twinged in sympathy at the memory of the ragged wound.

“She’s going to survive, it seems. Surgeons patched her up well enough, though she lost a lot of blood.”

“They said she could be in a coma for several days,” Alana finally spoke up. She looked tired, but smiled at Will when he looked over at her. “Glad to see you’re ok, Will. You worried us for a bit there.” Will gave a weak smile in acknowledgement, then turned back to Jack.

The werewolf grunted, and said, “Hopefully it doesn’t take that long, I need to know what she knows.”

“She’s a pyromancer, if that helps.” Will said quietly, gaze pulling back to the girl, shockingly pale against the sheets.

“How can you tell?” Jack’s eyes settled back on her, as though trying to see evidence of Will’s words.

Will shrugged, “I can feel it. Hobbs was so scared of losing her, losing her to - to college, but also to magic. Her pyromancy was another thing that separated her from him. I dreamt about it too. The fire.” He added, remembering Jack’s interest in his dreams, and in the way they could help the case.

“We found evidence at his house to link him to the other killings, but we need to know more, see if we can recover the bodies. We need conclusive evidence on this Will, can you help us find it?”

Will shrugged, tired, “I don't know Jack. It’s not so easy - it’s all emotions and - and doubts. There’s so many people in my head right now I’m having trouble sorting through them.” That was true. Will felt exposed, but numb to the emotions from outside him and numb to his own. He was tired, tired enough that his head didn’t even ache. It just felt heavy.

The werewolf looked like he was about to say more, but Hannibal stepped forward, “I believe I am beginning to gather a better idea of the extent and breadth of Will’s abilities. Perhaps I may be able to assist him in safely discovering more about Hobbs’ crimes. We would not want him to suffer an incident like today’s again.”

Jack nodded, “Good, I want you to look after him Doctor Lecter, keep him on the right track.” Will resisted telling them he was right there as they spoke about him.

“Of course,” came the demon’s easy reply.

“Make sure he doesn’t get too close,” Alana’s voice warned from by the bed, and Jack turned to frown at her. Will sensed there was some confrontation between the two of them about his _closeness_ to his work.

Lecter nodded, and Jack rubbed a hand over his face. “Right, I’ll leave you to it. The smell of hospitals always gives me a headache.” He left, clapping a hand on Will shoulder as he passed, pausing to stare down into Will eyes. Will met them for a second, seeing Jack’s shuttered concern in their depths before he let his eyes drop to the side. Jack sighed and left, the door clicking shut behind him.

Will moved closer to the bed, pulling up a chair on the other side of Alana. The girl, Abigail, stayed motionless.

“She’ll be ok, Will.” Alana said gently from across the bed. “As ok as anyone could be in the circumstances.”

Will nodded, seeing the blood on his sleeves out of the corner of his eyes. His eyelids drooped slightly in tiredness.

“Will, let me drive you back to your motel,” Hannibal began, from his place across the room.

“Just, give me a moment please.” Will murmured, looking down at Abigail, and reached out to gently place his fingers over the skin of her hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yay.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will discovers a little more about Hobbs, post mortem. (i.e. his cabin)

Will missed his dogs. Alana had assured him they were being well looked after by a friend while she was in Minnesota to help Jack. She was heading back today, and Will would be returning tomorrow, but still, he missed his dogs.

“Tell me what you dream of,” had been Hannibal’s parting words as he had left Will in his motel room, and now Will was lying awake in the bed, staring up at the shadowed ceiling and trying not to feel the tiredness of his eyes. He was sick of dreaming, sick of the blood and the nightmares and of waking up sweating and anxious.

He knew he had slipped so far out of his own head to find Hobbs, and now he was afraid of what would come when he let his unconscious mind take control. The shadows danced across the ceiling, forming the shapes of stags and flames and faces, mouths open to swallow him whole. He blinked and rolled over onto his side, wrapping the sheet tighter around him. Garret Jacob Hobbs’ mind was like an aftertaste in his head, constant and dull at the back of his mind. He felt haunted by the dead man - the man he had killed, and his thoughts kept slipping back to Abigail, lying in her hospital bed, a sudden orphan. Her father had cut her throat, Will had shot her father.

His thoughts bled into each other like ink in water, and then slowly, so slowly, quieted as sleep fell over him.

 

_Will lay in bed in the darkness. Turning his head with stiffness and heavy slowness against the pillow. Abigail lay next to him, like Elise had done what seemed like so many nights ago. The girl’s eyes were open and fringed with sadness, her head tilted to face him. Their eyes locked, and Will felt like his throat was full of liquid. Tears and blood all mixed together. The sheets beneath his body were warm and crackling, fire charring their pristine whiteness. Abigail didn’t move her gaze from his as the bed burned beneath them._

 

Will awoke, hot and sweating, and rolled over in the bed, sheets damp and tangled around his legs.

 

_Will stood in a field, black water up to his knees. Abigail stood beside him, feathers falling steadily from her outstretched arm. They burst into flame as they hit the water, only to be swallowed by the darkness. She looked up at him, and Will reached out a hand to touch her shoulder. In apology perhaps, or reassurance. As soon as his hand made contact, the scene changed, and Will was looking up into red eyes, a smile blooming beneath them._

_“See Will, and tell me what you see.”_

 

Will threw the sheets off his damp body and clutched the pillow tighter, eyes opening briefly before closing again.

 

_The stag was beside him, warm breath against his arm. He looked up at the cabin in front of him, antlers sprouting from the ground around it like plants. Curved and white and bloody. ‘See…’ was like a whisper of wind in his ears and Will looked around. Elise Nichols stood on his other side, blood pooling from the wounds in her chest, running down her nightgown. Running down her legs._

_“I’m sorry,” he forced passed his cold lips, but she didn’t seem to hear him. Tall pine trees dropped their leaves around him and mushrooms grew up between his toes. Mycelium crawling up his legs as Garrett Jacob Hobbs stood in front of him. Gunshot wounds in his chest and Will’s hands were up, holding the gun._

_“Stop! Don't make me do it!” Will was shouting even as he fired the gun. It kept firing, and firing. Shot after shot slamming into the corpse in front of him. And all the while that same smirk was on Hobbs’ face._

 

Will woke with a gasp, tears in his eyes and knowledge in his brain. Hobbs’ hunting cabin sat inside his mind, and he _knew_ where it was. Chippewa National Forest. He could picture it his head, the wood log walls, the pine trees. The road leading up to it. There was no doubt in his mind that he could find it, and the thought made him shiver under the cooling sweat on his skin. 

He rolled out from under the tangled, damp sheets and into the bathroom. Shaking under the shower water until it warmed up. Weak dawn light filtered in through the window high on the wall, and Will blinked harshly in its dull glow.

His fingers ached and he realised he was clenching them hard, hands trembling at the phantom sensation of a gun still in his hands.

He called Jack when he emerged from the shower, hands still damp against his phone.

“I know where his cabin is,” Will said in place of a greeting.

“Hobbs’ cabin? Where?” Jack’s voice sounded tired on the other end, and Will could hear paper rustling in the background. He wondered if Jack had even slept.

“Chippewa Forest. It’s along some of the back trails. I don't know exactly where, but I’ll be able to find it,” he allowed, fingers curling around the hem of his shirt as he spoke.

“How did you get this knowledge Will?” there was a clear spark of interest in Jack’s voice now, “another hallucination?”

“A dream actually.”

“Did Doctor Lecter help you? I thought he left for Baltimore last night?”

“He did leave. I ah… had several dreams. The cabin was one of them.”

“I see.” Jack seemed to sense the hesitancy in Will’s tone, and let the matter drop. “Meet me outside the hospital at say… ten o-clock, and we’ll go.”

Will nodded despite Jack being unable to see it, and pressed a hand to his forehead. He was catching a flight back home tonight, but the should leave him with enough time to get there.

“Right,” he said.

“And thank you Will. This is critical information for us,” Jack said, before ending the call. Will listened to the dial tone for a moment before getting up. Finding his shoes and leaving the hotel to find breakfast.

There was a smear of blood on the handle of the rental car’s door when Will emerged into the morning light, and he tried his best to ignore it even as he wiped it away with the inside hem of his shirt.

 

*

 

“This is it.” Will looked out the window of Jack’s car at the small, two story cabin. Wood logs and pine trees. The familiarity of the place in his mind made him grimace, and he swallowed down an aspirin when Jack shut the car door, the bang making his head throb. He got out of the car. Looked over at the unassuming building and saw blood staining the walls. Not really there, another hallucination perched just above reality.

“Hobbs’ purchased this place under a false name with a separate account. There were barely any links back to his identity. I doubt we could have found this without you, Will.” Jack said as Will came to join him on the other side of the car.

Will shrugged noncommittally. They would have probably found it eventually, had they known what to look for.

Jack gestured for him to follow, and they entered the cabin, the first floor was the kind of tool strewn shed that Will was expecting. Smelling of must and gun oil it seemed abandoned, though the skinning table still held the drying carcass of a deer, and neatly arrayed cupboards and shelves around the walls seemed relatively clear of dust. Will was drawn to the second floor as though pulled along by strings and headed towards the rickety stairs. Jack seemed to agree, nose held to the air and a frown on his face. 

“Blood. Old,” the werewolf said as they ascended the creaking stairs. Will nodded but said nothing, pressing his eyelids shut to get rid of the red that coated the steps.

“Well.” Jack said as they stepped out onto the second floor. “This is… interesting.”  
Antlers. Across the walls and ceiling. So many they were more like a forest of bone than a display. In his mind’s eye Will saw Elise, body punctured as she hung from the hooks of white bone. When he blinked away her after-image, he was able to see the one set of antlers still dark with blood. A small black stain dripped onto the wooden planks beneath.

“This is where he hung them,” he murmured, eyes transfixed onto the bloody tines.

“So it would seem. Didn’t have the time to clean up after the last one?” Jack gestured to the bloodstains.

Will shrugged.

“Can you find the bodies, Will?” Jack continued, close to his shoulder. Yes, that was the real reason they were here. Joining the dots. Finding the bodies, having something to bring back to the grieving families of Hobbs’ victims. At least all the victims until the last.

“Well, he was eating them. Maybe there are no bodies to find,” he said quietly, eyes fixed on the bloody floor.

“Still, there would have had to have been parts he wasn’t eating,” Jack said.

“Not necessarily,” Will murmured, but concentrated anyway, tried to pull the mind of Garret Jacob Hobbs back into his own. It was more difficult now, when it sprouted pains in his chest and kept pushing his mind to that moment in the kitchen. Abigail’s blood on the floor and Hobbs shaking with the force of Will’s bullets. He pushed that scene out of his head as much as he could, hands clenched and eyes pressed closed.

“He didn’t just bury the bodies, or what was left of them,” Will began, that was clear at least. A killer as obsessively caring as Hobbs would never just dump the corpses in the dirt. There was something here though, something pressed into the stained wood of the cabin. The thoughts and mind of Hobbs were ingrained in the wood as deeply his victim’s blood.

“I don’t know, but he wouldn’t have wanted to get rid of the bodies.” 

Jack sighed behind him. “Maybe he wasn’t hunting alone, wasn’t eating alone.”

“You think he had a hunting partner?” Will asked absently. The thought didn’t fit in with the obsessive need for control that he had sensed from Hobbs’ kills.

“Someone who was with him. Someone who is currently in a coma, for instance.”

Will looked up. “You suspect Abigail.” 

Jack shrugged, “I’m just not discounting her as a suspect quite yet.”

Will thought of the girl, thin and pale in the hospital bed. Tried to reconcile that image with that of a killer. It wasn’t impossible but… 

“I don’t think Abigail Hobbs killed anyone, Jack,” Will murmured, but his attention was pulled away by something thin and bright on the floor, just aside from the dried pool of blood.

“There was someone else here though,” He knelt down, plastic-gloved hand carefully lifting the thin strand of red hair. Jack sniffed the air behind him, a grimace on his features.

“Lounds.”

“Seems we weren't the first to find this place,” Will said, standing up again. “With the kind of research skills she has, maybe you should consider hiring her as a detective.”

“Not funny Will.” Jack sighed, “Though it does beg the question of how she managed to find this place before us. Before you.”

“Somehow got access to Hobbs’ files? New what she was looking for I guess,” Will paused for a moment, “Wasn’t bogged down dealing with a girl who had her throat slashed.”

“Hmph,” Jack grunted, eyes turning back to the antlers.

“I don’t think we’ll get much from here Jack, at least not towards finding the other victims.” 

“Well, we have another crime scene at least.” Jack sounded disappointed, but Will didn’t waste his energy on trying to reassure him, instead his eyes flittered over to the pale body standing behind the werewolf’s shoulder. Abigail Hobbs, still dressed only in the hospital gown, transparent enough that Will could see the antlers bracketing the wall behind her. Abigail stared solemnly at him, before turning to inspect the antlers, fingers dancing along the edge of smooth, white bone before falling through it. She appeared thoughtful-but-sad as she looked at the blood on the ground.

Will blinked at the hallucination, and felt a lump growing in his throat as Abigail turned back to him, her mouth moved as though she was speaking, but he couldn’t hear any words. Her figure faded away and Will was left with nothing but a sick feeling in his stomach and a light ache in his head.

“You alright?” Jack’s face faded into reality in front of him. “Did you see something?” The words were gentle, but spoken with obvious hope.

“Sorry Jack. Nothing useful.” Will looked down.

Jack sighed, hand lifting as if to pat Will’s shoulder but dropping before making contact. There was the sensation of a breeze against Will’s face that he was sure was just in his head, and he rubbed a hand over his face in attempt to rid his skin of the feeling. It didn’t work.

“I think you should talk to Doctor Lecter about this Will,” Jack said, stepping back.

Will gave a snort, “I already am remember. Lecter’s my personal working-out-what-Graham-is brigade.”

“I mean as a psychiatrist. You went from not being able to pull the trigger in a deadly force encounter to pulling it ten times. What happened at Hobbs’ place is obviously still affecting you.”

“Therapy doesn’t work on me Jack,” Will sighed, hands pressed back down into his pockets.

“Just try Will, Hannibal was _there_ , at least talk to him about it.”

Will sighed, but didn’t answer, eyes falling to the spot on the floor that Abigail’s bare feet had touched.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah idk.  
> NEXT CHAPTER WE FIND OUT WHAT WILL IS. YAY.  
> (stay tuned)


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will has therapy with Hannibal. Hannibal tells Will what Will is. Will learns just a little more about Hannibal.

“How have you been Will?” Hannibal asked as Will walked past him into the demon’s office. Shadows and antlers flickered along the walls and ceiling of the spacious room, and Will frowned up at them.

“Great. Fantastic.” Will turned back to Hannibal. “What do you think?”  
“I think you might be having difficulties adjusting to certain facts of the confrontation with Garret Jacob Hobbs.” Hannibal’s words were frank and unhesitant. Will resisted the urge to roll his eyes at him.

“Yeah, that’s one way of putting it.” He tried hard to ignore the stag that he could feel at his back, to ignore the presence of Abigail standing by the window, looking out at the street below. Then there was Hobbs, blue-ish around the eyes and bleeding black from the holes in his shirt. “The hallucinations have been getting worse,” Will admitted, flopping down into the chair opposite Hannibal’s.

Hannibal sat down with a precise carefulness that only made Will feel like more of a mess. “I barely sleep, I’m so tired all the time. Right now I can see Abigail Hobbs standing behind you.”

To his credit Hannibal didn’t turn to look, instead leaning a little closer to Will. “I will be frank with you, Will. The incident with Hobbs thoroughly destabilised you. Your abilities are out of your control. The fact that they are strong only makes such side affects worse.”

Will gave a dry laugh, devoid of all humour, and closed his eyes. “And what do you suggest I do about it, _Doctor_?”

Hannibal seemed unaffected by his sarcasm, “You are in need of an anchor. Something to ground you inside your own mind, and inside reality.”

Will opened his mouth to say something, probably rude, but closed it again when Hannibal continued. “The fact that you do not know what you truly are is serving to make you lost. This is something that can be immediately repaired, I believe I now know what you are.”

Will blinked, suddenly feeling a little numb. Not sure if the sensation in the pit of his stomach was dread or hope. “You’ve… diagnosed me? You know what’s happening? To me?”

“I believe I do. After your attack the other day I did some further research. Have you hear the term _oneiromancer_ before?”

Will shook his head, “Um, no.”

“It comes from the greek words óneiros, meaning dreams, and manteia, prophecy. According to Heirod, the Oneiroi where sons of Nyx, and brothers of Hypnos and Thanatos. Sleep, and death. They were the Dreams, capable of imparting prophesy to the god’s chosen.”

Hannibal paused for a moment, wine-red eyes intent on Will’s, before continuing. “An oneiromancer is genetically human, but with the DNA markers for magical intervention. Like a necromancer, or an clairvoyant. An affect of your particular accumulation and your empathy is a strong link to the psycholateral wavelength.”

Will paused, absorbing. His fingers made small circular motions on the arm of the chair. “So it’s like a necromancer, controlling the dead. Or a pyromancer, controlling fire? I don't feel very in control of dreams, Hannibal, least of all my own.”

Hannibal lips quirked into a tiny smile, “Words change over time, the suffix ‘mancer' is correctly interpreted as ‘one who divines from’. A necromancer was someone who could summon the dead to gain information. Over time the meaning shifted to ‘in control of’. Necromancer began to mean ‘in control of the dead,’ not just controlling them to discover truths.”

Hannibal leaned towards Will, “But you are an oneiromancer in the truest sense of the word. One who divines the _truth_ from dreams.”

“Oh,” Will sat back in his seat, head trying to wrap his head around the concept. “Ok, But what,  - what about the hallucinations? I’m not dreaming then.”

“Yes, that is what gave me trouble in defining you. You are an incredibly strong but unfocused oneiromancer, one who's abilities a greatly exacerbated by a natural empathetic talent. Your dreams are bleeding over into your waking mind. The hallucinations are your brain trying to make sense of this, attempting to adjust.”

Abigail ran her hand along the doctor’s shelf in the background. Hobbs grinned at Will as he hung from the wall, pierced as though by antlers.

“You were wrong, Hannibal,” Will sighed, eyes falling to settle on his own hand, trying to block out the others. “Finding out what I am isn’t making me feel more anchored.” If anything Will almost felt more lost. _Oneiromancer_. Human, but still _not_. Different. Unstable and unfocused. Well he sure felt like it.

“The information will take some time to absorb, I am sure. But now we know what your are, we can work towards…” Hannibal paused, “Treatment. Control. I can help you Will.”

Will rubbed the heels of his hands over his tired eyes. His sleep last night had been full of Abigail and her father. Will’s hands had been covered in blood to the elbows. 

“Yeah? You gonna prescribe me pills to _numb the sensations.”_ At this point Will wasn’t sure if didn’t actually _want_ that.

“Of course not. A gift such as yours should not be ‘numbed’. It should be controlled.” Hannibal looked mildly affronted at the suggestion.

“Then what?”

“Are you aware of a demon’s ability of Intrusion?”

Will frowned, arms crossing. “I don’t like people in my head, Hannibal. If I can’t stand it metaphorically how do you think I’d take it more literally?” 

Hannibal smiled at that. “While I cannot deny the thought of peaking into your mind is tempting, that is not what I am suggesting. Intrusion as I mean it would not so much be entering your mind, as wrapping my hands around it. Guiding it. Protecting it from excess stimulation.” 

Will stayed silent. Watched Hobbs’ mouth stretch into a dark sneering grin. Felt the buzzing press of flies and the stag’s antlers against the joints of his back. His fingers tapped a rhythm on the side of the chair for a long moment.

“How would you do it?”

“It would be a simple matter of physical contact. Putting my hands on your head would work best. By doing so I will be able to make a connection to your mind. You might experience a sensation of pressure around your head, which will be your mind trying to make sense of my intrusion.”

“But you wont actually be in my mind. You’re not gonna see my thoughts or anything right?” Will asked. There were certainly things in his head that he didn’t want anyone to know about, least of all his therapist. 

“I won’t actually enter you mind no, merely guide it as I said before. At the most I will get a sense of your emotions, perhaps the vaguest directions of your thoughts, but nothing more than that. More importantly I will provide a kind of barrier between your mind and the outside world, allowing you to focus on what you need to, and not be constantly bombarded with all that surrounds you. It would only be a temporary solution, but it could give you much more stability at crime scenes.”

“Only temporary. Of course,” Will’s noted with a sigh.

“Such assistance should relieve your stress and so lessen the adverse side affects you are experiencing. Over time you should slowly gain the ability to guide and protect yourself, but if you are still experiencing debilitating problems, I know another demon who would be able to build a hex around you.”

“A hex?”

“Like medication, it would numb your oneiromancy. Such things can have side affects of their own though, and I wouldn’t recommend it.”

“Why another demon? Why couldn’t you do it?” Will asked, nervous with the idea. 

“Every demon has different natural skills. I am highly skilled at Intrusion and mental guiding. Bedelia, though a far younger demon than I, is very skilled at hex and spell building.”

Hexes and spells were not ideal. Will had seen the affects of spells gone wrong, had felt them at crime scenes. Even a successful hex would be uncomfortable. Someone’s magic inside his head, sitting like a sticky spiders web across his brain. Will’s eyes skipped over Hannibal’s intense gaze, before settling on Abigail back by the window. Her neck was unmarred, but there was blood all down the front of her shirt. Will’s hands felt sticky with it.

“What would I have to do? For this Intrusion stuff?”

“No more than what you usually do when you empathise at a crime scene. Allow your mind freedom, let the associations come as they do. Accept the visions you see, and try not to push them away.” Hannibal paused, before lifting an eyebrow. “We can give it a try now, if you like?”

“Um,” Will hesitated, this hadn’t been what he had in mind for today, but… “Ok.” It would be smart to try it now, before the pressure of a crime scene.

“Excellent,” Hannibal stood, and stepped towards Will’s chair. He resisted the urge to flinch away when cool hands came to rest across his forehead, slipping down over his eyes before drawing back, to settle two fingers on Will’s temples. Will’s skin tingled slightly under Hannibal’s hands, and the world seemed a touch darker around him. Hobbs’ flickered in and out of existence on the wall, before fading completely. Will’s eyes rested on Abigail as she wavered as well, and she frowned, looking down at her hands then back up at Will before she too disappeared.

“I am surrounding your mind now Will, any hallucinations or underlying interference should be fading. Are you comfortable?”

Will nodded slightly, mindful of Hannibal’s long fingers around his head. A partial cage of bone and flesh.

“Good, now I want you to concentrate on this room, on me, as if its were a crime scene. Try to follow the same routine as you normally do.”

“Um, ok.” Will closed his eyes, took a few calming breaths, then gently tipped the pendulum across his vision. Hannibal stood behind him, he could feel his presence as easily as he could feel the demon’s hands on his skin. A strange heat, like hot blood emanating from the man. He could imagine Hannibal’s mind as something sharp. Old and refined like a classical painting, pointed like a blade. A web of golden thread surrounding fire.

In comparison Will’s own mind felt soggy and grey. Twisted and contaminated with the thoughts and emotions of others. Slowly it felt lighter, not brighter but less weighted, and on the edges of hearing Will heard Hannibal say, “I am inducing a dream like state to assist your visions. Try to focus on me, and tell me what you see.”

“I see blood.” Will felt his lips say quietly, and realised it was true. Hannibal’s office had disappeared from in front of him, had he closed his eyes? He couldn’t remember. Instead there was darkness, and blood on Will’s hands. He could taste it in his mouth. Hannibal’s fingers tightened minutely against his skull, and the blood faded like heat haze.

He could feel Hannibal’s intrusion like a shroud around him. Blocking him in. He focused in on it even as his mind wandered. The darkness in front of him flickered and changed, forming a kitchen. Light and airy. On the bench in front of him he could see half made dark black sausages. Other ingredients spread out across the marble top.

“Boudin Noir Aux Pommes,” Will murmured, without understanding the words.

“Well done, I made that three days ago,” came Hannibal’s voice through the darkness. Will could feel the demon’s pride at the dish, at all his dishes. Could feel the way the demon approached cooking as art. 

“Try to look back further, how far can you see?” Hannibal asked. Will could sense the carefully shielded curiosity in the demon’s words.

Will looked. Hannibal was _old_. How old he could not tell exactly, but he vaguely remembered Hannibal mentioning something about the early eighteen hundreds, on a morning that now seemed a long time ago.

He could not see all of Hannibal’s past. Couldn’t see it at all really. But he got impressions, emotions, snippets of history and of meals long past.

Out in the dark shadows of Hannibal’s history Will could feel a pull, a well of emotions. He pushed towards it.

“I smell blood again.” Will felt a lump in his throat. Felt heat in his belly. For a second there was a great yawning pit of fear and hate and _screaming denial. Blood and bones breaking and so much anger it blackened the ground and swallowed anyone who came too close-_ And then it was gone. Yanked away behind the darkness, and there was a voice in Will’s ears.

“Will. Will it is ok. You can wake up now.”

With a shuddering gasp Will became aware of Hannibal’s hands on his head, felt wetness on his cheeks and his heart thumping against the walls of his chest.

“I’m sorry Will, I did not think…” there was tension around Hannibal’s eyes as he removed his fingers from Will’s head, ducking his head to look into Will’s eyes. Hands shifting around to tilt Will’s head up for a clearer view.

Will pulled out of his grip and scrubbed at the dampness on his cheeks, embarrassed. The sensations already fading into forgetting.

“What the hell was that, Hannibal? What happened?” The words stuck in his throat.

“I did not expect you to see that far back,” Hannibal said with a sympathetic, upwards tilt of his lips . “I think you sensed the moment I became a demon. I should have guarded it better, that was a trauma you should not have been exposed to, even for a moment.”

“I’m sorry.” Will said, a shiver passing over him.

“Don’t be, it was my fault for not ensuring you could not reach it. In truth I did not expect you to be able to look that far back.” 

Will pulled his hands back to curl around his own waist as Hannibal sat back in the other chair.

“Um it worked though,” Will said quietly. “The hallucinations have gone, and it was easier to… look.”

“That is good. Perhaps we should leave it at that today however. You may even be able to sleep a little better now that I have cleared some of the extraneous influences on your mind.”

Will sighed, the headache Hannibal had mentioned starting to build behind his eyes. He looked out at the gathering night outside. “Yeah its getting late, I should be heading home.”

“Let me walk you to your car.” Hannibal said, standing as Will did and walking with him to the door.

“No, its fine.” Will’s hand tapped against the bottle in his pocket.

“Very well. Drive safely, Will.”

Will nodded and left, the door shutting quietly behind him.

He was fifteen minutes down the road before Abigail Hobbs flickered back into existence in the seat beside him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well. there you go. oneiromancy :) anyone who googled the title might have worked it out already haha.  
> Also Bedelia is a demon. No prizes for guessing who arranged events for that to happen :P


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will investigates the mushroom farm. Hannibal and Will try some more intrusion. Will is not a necromancer.

The gun felt heavy and cold in Will’s hands. The shooting range was empty at this time of the morning as he aimed down the sights, arms held up in front of him. He pulled the trigger, again and again. The recoil pushing against his wrists and the noise dulled and deadened by the ear protection. He fired like rote until the chamber was empty, before flicking the switch to bring the target closer. 

There were soft footsteps behind him and he half-turned to see Beverly approaching, the avia-form’s hands reaching up to remove her own hearing protection. She stepped obliviously through the shade of Abigail, who was leaning against the back wall, and watching Will with a calm gaze. He pulled the corners of his mouth up in what he hoped was a friendly smile. Beverly nodded at him, coming closer.

“You’re a weaver, would have taken you for an isosceles man myself,” she said, as Will turned to look at the scattered holes in the target. 

His aim was bad. With a sigh he reached forwards to replace the piece of board, flicking the switch again and watched it retreat back to the far wall

“I’ve got a rotator cuff issue so I have to use the weaver stance,” He said, raising the gun again, left arm slightly bent and right arm straight. He held back a flinch when he felt Beverly’s hand touch his shoulder.

“You _are_ tight,” she acknowledged, hand kneading gently into the muscle, and Will tried not to tense up further from the unexpected contact.

“Yeah I got stabbed when I was still a beat cop. The tendon’s not been quite the same since.” He pulled the hearing protection back over his head.

Beverly hummed behind him, adjusting his stance just slightly, her foot nudging against him to push his left foot forwards slightly.

“There, see if that helps with the recoil,” she grinned at him as she stepped back, and Will steadied his hands on the gun again.

Five shots, grouped at least properly within the target this time.

“See, much better. You should get advice from me _all_ the time.” Beverly chuckled, and Will allowed a small smile. “Thanks.” They both lowered the hearing protection again, and he paused glancing across Beverly’s golden eyes. She had been up in Minnesota until the day before. “How is… How is Abigail Hobbs doing? She was being moved down to Baltimore wasn’t she?” Will asked, eyes flickering up over Beverly’s shoulder to the shade of girl, still leaning against the far wall. Her head was tilted to the side, and for all intents and purposes appearing to listen intently to their conversation.

Beverly’s expression gentled, “Still in the coma, but she’s stable now, and yes, the move’s happening tomorrow. I’m going to go visit her when the doctors give the ok, did you want to come?”

“If it’s not… weird, then yes. Please.” Will said awkwardly, his gaze dropping.

“She’s got no one. Only an Aunt in Wyoming who apparently isn’t interested in coming. I thought it would be nice to at least leave some flowers in her room or something.” Beverly frowned, then flashed him a crooked smile. “But yeah, come. It’ll be good to not go alone.”

“I will, thank you,” Will paused, “But I’m guessing you didn’t come all the way down here to ask me on a hospital run.”

“Nope, Jack sent me down here to ask you what you know about gardening,” she said with a quirk of her lips. Will’s brow furrowed, and then he sighed in realisation.

“There’s another body somewhere isn’t there?”

“Yep, not just one this time, a whole crop of them.”

“Why do I get the feeling I’m not gonna like the reason you just said crop?”

Beverly just grinned at him, “You’ll see.”

 

*

 

Nine bodies. Sprouting from the ground like daisies, or more accurately, like the mushrooms that adorned their half decayed skin. Yellow tape cordoned off the area, and the small patch of forest in the middle of nowhere seemed to be practically swarming with people. Some members of the BAU forensic department were carefully digging the corpses from the ground, dark loam scattering across blue tarp.

Will watched from several steps back, and took in the IV lines hanging from the tree, the nine holes arranged in a line. They had been buried alive. Several bodies still in place, as yet un-removed by investigators.

On the other side of the clearing, Hannibal peeled off from Jack and a group of officers and made his way over to Will.

“A unique greenhouse, is it not?” the doctor murmured as he reached him.

“Yeah, certainly not seen _this_ before.” Will’s eyes glanced across Hannibal’s face before slipping back to the ‘garden’ in front of him.

“It would seem our killer considers himself to be some kind of farmer,” the demon added, looking out over the crime scene.

“He’s interested in mushrooms, at least.” Will’s gaze kept creeping back to fungi that grew across pale, corpse, skin. Lines of mycelium branching into the soil. Over Hannibal’s shoulder the hallucination of Abigail was pulling a slightly disgusted face as she looked out over the cold bodies.

Behind her, Jack broke away from the other police officers and approached Will and Hannibal.

“The local police found tire tracks on a service road, and there were lots of small animal traps surrounding the area. Couple of boys on a hike found them,” Jack gestured vaguely to a group of people on the outside of the yellow tape, talking to an officer.

“The killer didn’t want them to be disturbed by anything, took time to make sure they wouldn’t be.” Will said quietly.

Jack motioned them closer to the scene, and they approached the shallow graves where Beverly and the other two forensics were carefully peering at one of the corpses. 

“A total of nine bodies, various stages of decay, and all very well fertilised,” Price said as they neared, poking a gloved hand at one of the sprouting mushrooms.

“The guy was enthusiastically encouraging decomposition, its a high nutrient compost, and the conditions were kept perfect for growing fungi.” Zeller added looking up at Will and Jack, then pointing out at the IV lines, “They were buried alive, with the intention of keeping them that way, at least for a while.”

“No restraints?” Will asked, looking down at the decaying corpse at their feet.

“Just dirt.” 

“Let me know what was in those intravenous lines when you find out,” Will said, wondering if they had been kept drugged, and if that would have affected the mushroom growth.

“Other end of the air supply system’s over there,” Beverly said, pointing at an old umbrella strapped to a tree, lines of tubing still hanging from it like bloodless veins. “Not a very efficient clean air solution, so that clearly wasn’t a priority.”

“Hmmm,” Will murmured, eyes drawn to the fungi, and those thin white lines of mycelium creeping along decomposing flesh.

“Right,” Jack’s voice broke through his thoughts, “Everyone clear out, come on,” he clapped his hands together, ushering the others away before turning back to Will and Hannibal.

“You two know what your doing? Hannibal says he can help guide your visions today Will.”

Will nodded, choosing to ignore the word ‘visions’, “Yeah, go on Jack.”

He watched as the werewolf retreated, casting a last glance back at Will before he ducked under the yellow tape. Leaving Will alone in the crime scene but for the demon at his side.

“Are you ready, Will?” The low accent hummed by his ear. “We’ll do it just like in my office, only this time you can focus on the crime scene.” 

“Right um, yes.” Will nodded.

“Just let your mind act naturally, follow the paths of thought you usually do,” Hannibal said calmly, voice taking on a doctor’s steady tones and hands rising to touch Will’s temples.

“Close your eyes for a moment,” the hands slipped across Will’s eyes as Hannibal stepped behind him, hands wrapping around his head. “Just like before, I'm going to block out any other influences, and induce a semi-dream like state.” The words faded around Will, and he reopened his eyes when the other man’s hands slipped back to the sides of his head.

The shade of Abigail was gone again, the world seemingly dulled around him. 

He let the pendulum cross his vision, erasing the yellow tape. Erasing Jack and the other officers standing at the edge. Dirt filling the holes in the ground to bury half-alive victims. He let the mind of the killer creep along the edges of his own until he was stepping forward, watching dirt rain down from the gleaming edge of his shovel. He paused to look down at the man beneath him, lying in the ground, body just below the surface.

“I don’t bind his arms or legs as I bury him in a shallow grave,” he murmured, the phantom sensation of hands around his head barely-there as he continued. “He’s alive, but he will never be conscious again,” Will crouched down by the body, by the shallow depression in the dirt, and carefully tied the man’s limp hand to the stick, inserting the IV line into a blue vein.

“He wont know that he’s dying. Because I don't need him too.” 

Will slipped further into the mind of the killer, allowed the emotions of the scene to wrap around him. He was in control. No haphazard killer took the time to perfectly line up the graves of their kills, or was so organised. He was totally calm in the knowledge of what he was doing. A set of actions to be completed one by one. Like a recipe. He looked down at the corpse in front of him. 

One of the few not yet removed by the forensics, simply freed of dirt. In Will’s mind, he saw the man half buried, air supply tubes strapped to his face, mushrooms not yet grown but skin the pallor of the nearly dead. This man had not fought. Hadn’t given himself willingly either. There had just been a moment of normal life, and then this.

For a moment Will saw gunshots piercing the victim’s chest, saw Hobbs’ pale blue eyes and mocking smirk. Blue shirt soaked with blood and death. He flinched away from the thought, focusing harder on the man in front of him. Real, even if coloured by the killer’s thoughts.

Will reached out with his mind further, saw the little markers around him, pressed into the dirt and all the things that the killer had made, and had touched. Will pressed out against the limits of his own skull. The man in the grave was _not_ Hobbs. He was another; light brown hair, close shaved jaw, and Will could almost sense the last flickering of the corpse’s mind, so different from the desperation that Hobbs had carried. Will pushed further-

The man opened his eyes.

Will gasped in perfect time with the corpse’s own sudden weak breath as a clammy hand shot up to grip Will’s wrist with surprising strength. Will was forced back into reality, staring down at the fungi covered corpse, knees cold where he knelt in the dirt.

Then Will was jerking back, _being jerked back_ , as hands on his shoulders pulled him away from the _not-quite-dead_ man in the ground. The cold fingers slipped from his skin to hit the dirt, and Will stared in shock, his mind blank.

There was shouting and suddenly the man in front of him was being surrounded by people, Beverly shooting a concerned glance to Will even as she knelt and helped manoeuvre the body onto a tarp.

Will shook, and didn’t even realise he was shaking until Hannibal was pulling him up, steadying hands looped under his arm and across his shoulder.

Hannibal’s eyes were so red, Will found himself thinking as he swayed slightly. His skin crawled, he didn’t feel like he was getting enough air.

“-need to breath, Will,” Hannibal was saying, and Will was able to take a steadying breath, and then another, as Hannibal guided him away from the scene with an arm around his shoulders.

“There you go. My intrusion blocked a good deal of the psychic backlash from that man’s trauma, but you still experienced a good deal. Just focus on yourself for a moment. If you can.”

Will nodded at Hannibal’s words, concentrating on his shaking hands and balling them into fists until they barely trembled. He breathed out, breath barely hitching, and Hannibal’s hand warm on his shoulder. He felt cold, he felt dead, but the feelings were fading slightly with each breath of fresh air that filled his lungs.

“What the hell just happened?” Jack’s voice was loud as the man approached. “What did you two do?”

Will flinched slightly at the volume, scrunching his eyes shut trying to block out his boss’s emotions. Frustration, confusion, that spark of anger that Jack always seemed to get whenever he wasn’t sure why something was happening, but was sure it was going to result in more paperwork for him. “You trying to raise the dead now?”

“Will is not a necromancer, I assure you,” Hannibal said from beside him, the demon’s hand still resting reassuringly on Will’s shoulder. 

“Yes, an oneiromancer, as you said. I still don’t see what happened,” Jack growled. Actually growled, which was something that only happened when he was particularly angry or startled.

“Will has visions through his dreams, but he can also touch the dreams of others. In my intrusion I could sense the moment when his mind made contact with that man’s. Although I confess before then I did not realise the man was still alive.” There was a hint of contriteness in the Doctor’s voice now, though the demon’s hand remained firm on Will’s shoulder.

“He practically wasn’t,” Will muttered, the cold threads of the man’s dead mind still clinging to his own. He opened his eyes to Jack’s grumpy face, feeling less like his mind was being pulled in ten different directions now.

“Yes, I don’t think he’ll even survive the trip to the hospital, and even if he did…” Jack trailed off.

“Irreparable brain damage would have occurred, he would never wake up,” Hannibal concluded.

“You didn’t tell me I could get into other peoples dreams, Hannibal,” Will frowned up at the demon.

“I am sorry, Will. I did not think you could until just now. Oneiromancy is a rare subset of psychosensitivity, and I suspect your empathy is powering yours in unique ways. Now it seems obvious that you would be able to have some access to those who are dreaming, but I did not think of it before.” Hannibal’s face was a mask of apology, and Will couldn’t muster the energy to be particularly angry. He could feel a headache coming on.

“Anything else you think I might be able to do? What with my _empathy._ ” Sarcasm was a faint tilt to his words.

“None that I can think of right now, I will of course let you know if I suspect anything.”

“Right, of course.”

Jack sighed, “Alright well, ignoring whatever that was that just happened, what did you see?”

Right, the killer, Will sighed, bringing a hand up to rub his forehead. 

“He’s very organised, calm. In control. He’s not killing for the fun of it - no one like that would take the time to line his victims up in such a neat row. No,” Will paused trying to collect his mind, summarise what he had seen. “He’s not crazy, he just doesn’t… doesn’t see the value of human life over what he is doing. He has a - a plan, and this is just a step, something he needs to do to achieve a result, its that result that he cares about.”

“So what does he want, Will? Whats he doing it all for?” Jack asked, voice insistent.

“I don’t _know_. I - he wants to create something, he… the fungi is part of it - that didn’t happen by accident, it’s important. I need to know what he was feeding them.”

“You didn’t see anything else? Nothing that can give us an idea of where this guy is, what he’s doing now?” Jack pushed.

“No - I, I don’t know. Somewhere he can find his victims easily. He wouldn’t be a particularly strong guy, he wasn’t overpowering them.” Will rubbed his hand through his hair and across his head again, feeling the ache growing behind his eyes. He shivered, cold chills running across his lungs for a moment before settling.

“Well what about-“

“Please, Jack,” Hannibal cut the other man off, “Will just made psychic contact with a very traumatised mind, we must give him a moment to recover.”

Jack looked like he was going to protest, then sighed. “Right, yes. I’m sorry Will, we’ll continue this tomorrow at the lab, you should get some rest.”

“Its fine,” Will wanted to complain about being treated like he was about to suffer a melt-down, but held it back. He _was_ glad to avoid Jack’s intense questioning, and he didn’t feel entirely steady.

“Let me walk you to your car, Will,” Hannibal said gently, “I trust you are well enough to drive?”

“Yeah, but um…” Will silently cursed himself for what he was about to do, but the vision of Hobbs still haunted the back of his mind, “Could we maybe talk for a bit? In your capacity as a psychiatrist,” he asked, not looking up at the demon.

“Of course we can,” If Hannibal was surprised by Will’s sudden change of heart he didn’t show it “We can head to my office now,” he continued.

Will nodded, eyes falling to the leaf strewn earth before him. Shadowy lines of mycelium, criss-crossed the ground, white strands sprawling outwards to form complex spirals and shapes and crawling up Will’s legs in networking grids. He blinked until they disappeared, and the ground was simple covered in leaf litter once more. Will felt unstable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi. Yes, I still exist and so does this story :)  
> Chapters have been slow because I've had a lot of other things that Ive been having to do (uni work) But its the holidays in a few weeks, so if we're lucky you won't have to wait too long for new chapters.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will doesn't feel stable (what else is new?), Hannibal and Will talk.

“I don’t feel stable,” Will said, standing in Hannibal’s spacious office, hands shoved deep in his pockets and a fresh handful of painkillers in his system.

“No? Are you suffering from your mental link with the man in the grave?” Hannibal asked, hand reaching out to tilt Will’s head up and look into his eyes, a touch of concern in his voice.

“It’s not that - alright, not _just_ that.” Will nervously pulled his head from the other’s touch and looked away. “That was… I know what that was, and the sensations have practically faded,” Will tried not to think about the cold weight he had felt, seeped deep into his muscle, into his bones. The breathlessness of dirt blanketing him. “It’s more than that. It’s what I’ve been _seeing_.”

“Ah, do you find yourself hallucinating again?” Hannibal asked.

“You could say that,” Will chuckled humourlessly. He avoided Hannibal’s gaze and walked to window, staring out at the darkening sky. “Back in that grave, I _saw_ Hobbs,” he admitted, “Right before, well.. you were there.”

“You hallucinated Hobbs, like you said you did his daughter, Abigail?” Hannibal moved to a side table where a bottle of wine and a couple of glasses stood.

“Yes. No - I mean, yes but it wasn’t like the other hallucinations, I was _sure_ it was him, for a moment at least. Certain I was looking down on his corpse. He wasn’t - wasn’t transparent like my other hallucinations, far more solid, more real.”

“I see. Are you worried you are being haunted Will?” Hannibal asked calmly as he poured out a glass of wine. Red liquid running down the inside of the crystal clear glass like - well, certain other red liquids.

“No. It’s not like… I’ve dealt with spirits before, they’re not like this. This is all _my_ mind, but I can’t… I couldn’t tell it wasn’t real.” Will rubbed a hand against his tired eyes, stared for a moment at the tiny tremors shaking his fingers then clenched a fist to try and force them away.

“This is the only time you’ve had such difficulties?” Hannibal asked, handing Will a glass of wine before pouring his own. Little ripples scattered across the surface when Will’s trembling hand took it, he hoped Hannibal couldn’t see it.

“Yes. Do you normally drink with your patients?” he raised an eyebrow at the demon.

“On occasion, but you are not officially my patient.”

“No I suppose not.” Will took a sip of the wine. Something smooth and oaky, no doubt ridiculously expensive.

“This was the first time I’ve not been sure of what was real, at least like this.” He sighed, moving to his chair and collapsing into it’s leather embrace. Will had felt unstable before, felt too caught up in killer’s minds. Late at night, after hard cases he had sometimes found himself on the edge of the cliff, teetering between himself and others. But he’d always found his way back. Now he felt like he was perpetually falling, _unstable_ on the cusp of reality and hallucinations.

“I’ve also been hallucinating Abigail Hobbs more and more,” he added, “I know _she’s_ not real- she’s more of a shade, or a shadow - less present, but it seems the only time I don't see her is during or just after your Intrusion.”

“My Intrusion blocks out most external influences, it would be protecting your mind for the muddled thoughts that surround you and, in a way, simplifying your own thoughts. It is not unreasonable to expect it to prevent hallucinations.”

“But I still hallucinated Hobbs.”

“Yes, you did.”

“You think I was focused on him?”

“I think you displaced the victim of a crime with someone who could arguably be considered your own victim.” Hannibal paused, then added, “It is stress, compounded with your abilities, but stress nonetheless.”

“I don’t consider Hobbs my victim.” Will frowned down at his hands in his lap.  
“What do you consider him then?” Hannibal’s eyes were on him.

“Dead.” It was true. Will had killed Hobbs. Hobbs was dead, but he wasn’t Will’s _victim_. Will had been in the man’s head, their thoughts all wound up together, he had known Hobbs’ desperation. Hobbs had known he was going to die, hoped he wasn’t, but had known nevertheless. And Will had come into his life, fired his gun and killed him. Hobbs was not his victim, but there had still been _a_ victim.

“I killed someone’s father.”

“Also someone’s would-be murderer,” Hannibal said, his crimson gaze set on Will.

“Yes.” Will stared at the grain of the leather seat by his arm.

“You feel responsibility towards what happened to Abigail.”

“Don’t you? You were there too, how do you feel about what happened?” Will snarked, his eyes fixed firmly on Hannibal’s lapel.

“I feel a tremendous amount of responsibility.”  
“Yeah?” Will managed to look into the demon’s eyes.

“I also feel an obligation towards her.”

“I feel guilt. I saved her life and orphaned her at the same time.” Will sighed, then hid his reaction in the motion of sipping wine.

“Perhaps this guilt is contributing towards your hallucinations. You mind attempting to make sense of the thoughts in your subconscious, along with you oneiromancy - forming vivid images.” Hannibal sat back in his chair, hand closed around the stem of his wine glass.

Will shrugged, “Perhaps.” He couldn’t deny that his thoughts had been focused around the Hobbs, both father and daughter. His dreams dancing around slit grins and bullet wounds and opened throats. “I’m finding it harder to focus on the crime scene, to look into this killers mind and stay there, without - yes - without returning to my own crime scene.” Will rolled his eyes at the words, but it was true, there wasn’t a better way to describe how it felt.

“Is it harder now, to imagine the thrill somebody else feels killing, now that you have done it yourself?” Hannibal’s tone was mild, Will frowned anyway.

“This killer isn’t feeling a thrill when he kills, its not like that.” He chose to ignore the other part of the doctor’s question. 

“But he feels something yes? The hands, why did he leave them exposed. To hold them as they died? Feel the life leaving their bodies?”

Will shook his head, “No, thats far to esoteric for someone like him. He’s not doing it because he wants them dead. He’s… He sees them as _components,_ parts of giant machine that he’s assembling, elements in a recipe. Their lives aren’t important to him.”

“Or by extension, their deaths.” Hannibal raised an eyebrow.

“He took the time to line them up, did you see that? They weren’t just in a row, it was almost mathematical precision. He’s practical.” Will shrugged, taking another, longer, sip of the wine. “He needs the corpses, its about the parts, not the emotions.” Though… that wasn’t entirely correct, the killer had seen his victims, had needed them as composite parts, but also… they had not just been lumps of flesh and bone for his garden, there had been something more.

“If he just needed the corpses, why not dig them up? There are easier ways to go about finding death than creating it yourself.” Hannibal supplied. “What about the intravenous lines? He was cultivating them, tending to his farm.”

“He needed them dying,” Will realised, “That was the part he needs, not just their corporeal flesh.”

“Yet he let them die, save for the one that didn’t.”

Will shivered slightly at the memory of cold stiff fingers gripping his wrist with a strength he would not have expected. He rubbed lightly at the skin, wondering if it would bruise. He remembered mycelium crawling across the ground, branching out between the corpses.

“Yes, and he died on the way to the hospital.” Will stared at his hand, curled around the stem of the wine glass, then flicked his gaze to Hannibal’s. The demon’s long fingers wrapped around the crystal, strong and firm without the slightest hint they could ever tremble. Light reflected through the glass to glow red against the skin. Will focused on that stability, let it drive the thoughts of Hobbs from his head and pushed himself further into the mind of the farmer. The cultivator. “They were fertiliser, the bodies were covered in fungus.”

“Another element of his recipe?”

“Yes, he’s building something.”

“The structure of fungus mirrors that of the human brain, an intricate web of connections.” Hannibal said, words careful.

Something else clicked inside Will’s thoughts, “He admires their ability to connect, the way human minds can’t.”

Hannibal smiled, and it was a smile with teeth, “Yours can.”

Will let out a chuckle in surprise at Hannibal’s blatancy, “Not… physically,” he ducked his head away from the other’s gaze.

“No, perhaps if it was you would find it easier, instead of being caught in the crashing waves of uncertainty.”

Will shrugged, but looked up as he heard Hannibal move, the demon standing from his chair. 

“I’m not _uncertain…”_ Will tried, then gave up, “Well, ok. But this is all new, and I’ve never been… particularly certain anyhow.”

Hannibal hummed and lifted a book from his wide oak desk, bringing it round and handing it to Will, who took if after a moment’s hesitation.

“What is this?” Will asked, eyeing the thick leather cover.

“An encyclopaedia of human and non-human variances.” Hannibal returned to his seat before continuing. “It is a little out of date with the current terms, but has one of the few accounts of oneiromancy that I consider to be accurate. It is unfortunately a rare type of psychosensitive, one too often lumped in with other groups.”

Will ran a hand across the smooth cover of the book, the indented and faded gold lettering proclaiming it to be _Ingrïdia’s Complete Compendium of Creatures and Magickal Affects._  

“Um, thank you,” he murmured.

“I have bookmarked the relevant section. You are welcome to keep that for as long as you like, you may find it useful in helping settle some of your… uncertainties.”

 

 

*

 

Will sat in his car outside of Hannibal’s office. Hands resting lightly on the wheel, but not moving yet. The book sat on the passenger seat, still unopened. His mind drifted back to the case. The killer was _cultivating_ the fungus, Will had been drawn to the lines of mycelium, the branching interconnected threads and blooming mushrooms across skin. The fungus certainly hadn’t happened by accident, and Will his own mind following the killer’s in reaching towards it. The bodies were important too. Some element of the life leaving them was… needed. Will thought about those neat lines of graves, the efficient yet basic system of keeping them alive, buried. Their deaths were not exactly wanted or cared about, but a required part… Will’s head began to ache.

He ran a hand over his face as his phone buzzed, and he picked it up, eyes taking a moment to adjust to the text on the glowing screen in the dark.

_Will. Thought you should know that the man who woke up at the crime scene today died on the way to the hospital. - Jack._

Will stared at the screen for a long moment, remembering the words he had told Hannibal, sitting warm in his office. He had come straight from the crime scene to Hannibal’s office, and not received any communication from anyone until now. Yet he had told Hannibal the man had died, hadn’t even thought about what he was saying. Will let out a groan and dropped his head onto the wheel with a thud.

After a while he mustered up the strength to start the car and drive.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "It won't take too long for the next chapter" she said, "Don't worry" she said. I know. I'm sorry, I'm terrible. 
> 
> Also, I know 'magickal' is not the right spelling, its on purpose.
> 
> Yeah, sorry this chapter is basically just talking with not much exciting happening, next chap should be a little better?


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will does some light reading. And then a little more a little later.

Will’s dogs snuffled happily at him in greeting as he handed out pats in his doorway, Hannibal’s book tucked out of the way under his arm and the porch light a warm glow in the post dusk darkness. Warm, furry bodies wriggled around him, and wet noses poked at his face, and Will smiled down at them. Twenty minutes later the dogs were fed and relaxed, and Will was sat at his rickety kitchen table, a glass of whiskey in one hand and the book laying unopened on the table in front of him. He took a sip, and eyed the weathered cover, and the little slip of card poking innocuously from between the pages as a marker. It seemed to be accusing him, and with a sigh he pulled it out, fingers dipping in to catch the page and open the book.

He looked at the card first. A business card. Hannibal’s. Small neat type set into a thick, smooth, stock detailing his name and number, the words _Accredited Psychiatrist_ in block print just beneath. If Will had previously put any thought into what the demon’s business card would look like, he would have assumed it to be something more extravagant. With more flourishes and colour to match the man’s ostentatious style. Though now looking down at the neat text and simple, if elegant signature, Will couldn’t imagine anything else for the doctor. There was a confidence to the simplicity that felt synonymous with Hannibal’s sense of control.

He left the card on the table and turned his attention to the opened page of the book. Bold lettering defined the section as _Oneiromancy: Dream Psychomancy._ There was only one short paragraph. Will read it.

 

_Oneiromancy is the form of Psychomancy that involves divination through dreams. Oneiromancers fundamentally see the past, future or hidden knowledge in their own dreams, or the dreams of others. Also known as night-visions, these tend to be laden with symbolism, and may be difficult to interpret. Some Oneiromancers report being able to control what they see, while others are completely uncontrolled. They may have the ability to dreamwalk (see Dream Walker) or otherwise mentally connect to others who are asleep. Unlike Meconomancy, the condition is natural, and not aided by opiates. Oneiromancy is considered among the rarest forms of Psychomancy and has only been minimally studied. This should not be considered a full account._

 

Great. Will reached down to run his hand through Winston’s fur, the dog nosing up against his leg in hopes of affection. It seemed no matter where he looked there was no clear, precise answer to his issues. At least this had _some_ explanation, he supposed, though it didn’t seem to be much more than what Hannibal had already told him. Will had dreams, and hallucinations and they connected to what was happening around him, or had happened, or was going to happen. He remembered the little metal filings in his dream of Elise Nichols, and the vision of Hobbs on the floor of his kitchen, shortly before Will had shot him and he had fallen into place like the last piece of a puzzle. Will stared into his whiskey glass for a moment, imagining he could see the shape of antlers revealed in the way the light refracted through the liquid. Then he shook his head to clear himself of the lingering images, and flipped through the thin pages to find Dream Walker, which turned out to be an even shorter entry.

 

_A Dream Walker is one who can travel through the dreams of others. They may have some level of control or simply be visitors to the sleeping mind. Dream Walkers were once considered a separate  condition, but the process is now seen as a facet of other mind-oriented species or magics. The skill varies among individuals._

 

Will took a longer drink of his whiskey. Not much information there either. He closed the book, pushing it out of reach and sighed. Hannibal had told him his empathy was… compounding with his nature in exaggerated ways, as though his empathy was blending with the oneiromancy to form something new. Will felt sick, he was always something different, not even just a rare type of psychosensitive, but one whose mind was completely messed up with an empathy disorder. He felt stretched thin, tired, and unbalanced. When Hannibal had told him what he was, when they had worked together to control his visions, Will had - for a moment - considered that it could have been… he wasn’t sure. An explanation? A reason for everything that was _not right_ with his mind. Some kind of cure, and control. If anything Will felt less stable then he ever had, his mind spinning between the thoughts of killers, his dreams a confusion of images and feeling. His hallucinations an almost constant presence.

He groaned and knocked back the rest of the whiskey, before nudging Winston’s head off his lap and stumbling to his bed, stopping to refill the glass on the way.

The hallucination of Abigail hadn’t yet reappeared, and for that he was grateful. He didn’t want to think about her right now, didn’t want to remember her huge frightened eyes or her father’s cold dead ones. He didn’t think he could take that right now, and instead tried to focus on the current case. The killer who was building - no - _growing_ something. They were a calm killer, collected, and ‘ _collected’_ was the word wasn’t it? They were collecting the parts that they needed, and some of those parts were not parts as such, but something less… physical, less corporeal. 

Out of the corner of his eyes he could see small, pale lines creeping up the wall, looking like cracks. The fungus spread across the floor, sliding under snoozing dogs until Will squeezed his eyes shut. When he opened them again they lines were gone, and Will felt himself breathe a sigh of relief. He flopped backwards into the bed, then kicked off his pants and pulled off his outer shirt.

The last of the whiskey, amber coloured and almost glowing, disappeared quickly before he pushed himself under the covers.

 

_Mushrooms sprouted from Will’s chest and he felt suffocated, the tendrils falling through his flesh and wriggling into his lungs. With a gasp he pushed up from the damp earth to find himself standing in the autumn forest. Amber-gold leaves falling onto the graves of the nine victims. Set in the tenth spot was a hospital bed, the girl - Abigail Hobbs - sat on the edge of it, her bare feet pressing down into the dirt. They stared at each other for a moment, before she turned her gaze away, looking out over the scene with an expression of mixed interest and confusion. Will followed her gaze, eyes focused out on the small clearing. Each of the nine graves was filled in, undisturbed, with the victims pale hands reaching out from the dirt. The IV lines spread out, up into the golden leaved trees whose branches connected into fractal shapes, all spirals and conjoined angles. Will took a tentative step forwards, feet sinking slightly into the dirt. He could feel Abigail’s eyes on him as he walked forwards, closer to the killer’s scene._

_Even the bark on the trees was made of swirling, interconnected lines, and Will blinked heavily. Slowly. Golden light filtered down through the leaves above. ‘Connection’, Will thought with all the speed and weight of a coma victim._

_Then he saw the killer. Emerging from between the trees was the shadow of a man, indistinct and blurry. Buzzing, static edges that seemed more like a man-shaped hole in the glade, than an actual human being. They walked steadily towards the scene, before stopping to kneel in front of the fifth body, halfway down the line. The killer reached forwards, hands slipping through the dirt, and fingers trailing across the ground to draw out patterns and shapes. Then the killer turned, non-existant eyes fixed on Will._

_There was a sensation around Will’s body, and he looked down to see the mycelium creeping out, spreading from his flesh in a web across the damp earth. Abigail made a sound of surprise as it passed her, twining up her bare feet. Will’s body was nearly covered by the time it reached the graves, blooming mushrooms stuttering into existence above the corpses like a bad stop motion animation. The shape of the killer seemed unaffected by the fungus as it traveled beneath them. The thin white lines were tightening around Will, crawling up his arms, up to his face. Falling through his skin and into his body and -_

 

Will woke with the sheets damp and tangled tightly around him. He stayed motionless for a good ten seconds before struggling out of the rolled up bedding and sitting on the side of the mattress, his feet pressed tentatively to the wooden floor.

He shivered for a moment under the cooling sweat that left his skin damp, before pushing off the bed and stumbling to the bathroom. It was still dark outside, and Will guessed it had been a scant hour or two since he had fallen into bed. His head ached, in a distant sort of way, and he realised he was probably a little drunk. How many glasses of whiskey had he had? He couldn’t quite remember now, but they had been _full_ glasses. He groaned, and pushed a hand against his forehead as he stepped into the shower. The first drops of hot water on his cold skin sank into him like the pressure of his dream fungus, and he shivered again, hands rubbing up and down to try and rid himself of the feeling.

 _Connection. He admires their ability to connect, the way human minds can’t._ Hannibal’s voice settled into his mind, and Will remembered their talk in Hannibal’s office.

In his dream he had seen the killer, or some kind of shape of them at least. He remembered the patterns drawn into the dirt, the interconnected trees, the IV lines branching out and then together. The killer was seeking some kind of connection, that was true, they were trying to create those connection in their own way. The dead are all the same, Will thought, in a voice that wasn’t really his.

He turned the shower knobs further. Warm water cascading down, soaking him, washing away the grime of the killer. He shook his head, water flicking from the ends of his hair. He was so close to knowing more about the killer he was nearly in their mind. He could almost see their picture. Could almost see what they had been drawing in the dirt.

And then he did see it.

Will was out of the shower and dripping onto his kitchen floor barely a minute later. A towel wrapped around his waist and his feet leaving wet prints across the hardwood. He pulled the leather-bound book, _Ingridïa’s Compendium,_ towards him from where he had left it on the table. Stared down at it for a moment before turning to flick on a lamp in the corner. A few dogs stirred from their place on the floor, but otherwise didn’t move.

Will spared them a quick glance before flipping through the pages of the book, words illuminated under the soft lamp light. Then he was staring down at the paper that held small neat figures. Drawings of shapes and sigils, both complex and simple. He flicked back a few pages until he found the start of the section. _Magickal Circles and other Focusing Imprints._ Will turned through a few more pages. These weren’t exactly what he was looking for, but he was close. He remembered the graves, the neat line of them in the woods. He thought of the lines of mycelium, their fractal shapes and joins, then turned his attention back to the text.

 _Sigils and diagrams meant to summon…_ he skipped forward a few lines, _Utilised in building hexes_. No that wasn’t right either. _To focus a spell or incantation._ Close, but still not what he was looking for, he ran his finger lightly down the page. _The elements making the design play an important role. Lamb’s blood is particularly useful for summoning spells, while items important to a person should be used for a spell aimed towards them._

Will put the book down, resting it gently on an end table, before lifting his hands to run through his wet hair. The killer was building some kind of spell. That was what his recipe was for. The… parts of his recipe where important, and Will’s mind kept pulling back to the fungi, back to the connections. Back at the crime scene he had felt… something from the killer. Something beyond the calmness, beyond the careful contractions of a scientist or an engineer. ‘ _The hands, why did he leave them exposed. To hold them as they died?’_ Hannibal had asked that in his office and Will had brushed him off. The man had not cared about the hands, not about the flesh and bone of the corpses he tended. But he had cared about the people, had felt like he wasn’t hurting them, not exactly.

Will’s head ached, and then he shivered, suddenly realising he was still in nothing but the towel. He left the book on the table and returned to his bed, pulling dry clothes on over damp skin before climbing back into the bed. He stared at the ceiling above, trying to reach back to that feeling of the killer. That _driven_ emotion. That calm sensation of doing what was to be done, piece by piece, step by step.

Beside him, the pale, transparent shade of Abigail lay. Staring with him at the roof.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will visits a corpse and girl.

The morning sun was bright and white, and Will was just a little hung over. He hadn’t slept much either, and found he was having difficulty discerning where chronic insomnia ended and hangover began.

“Long night?” Beverly asked, appearing beside him and pushing a warm styrofoam cup into his hands. “I’m afraid it’s just what they had downstairs, but its better than nothing right?” She took a sip from her own cup, and then grimaced. “Tastes like horse shit.” Will watched as she downed the rest before crumpling the container and dropping it in the trashcan beside the lab door.

He took a sip from the cup she had given him, just grateful for the extra hit of caffeine.

“We um, still on for later?” He asked, “You know… Abigail Hobbs.” His eyes skittered away to land somewhere above and to the left of Beverly’s shoulder.

“Of course. You’ll ride over with me after lunch right? No sense taking two cars.”

Will nodded, then glanced over at her shoulder at the approaching figure of Jack.

“Will.” Jack nodded at him, stopping in front of him as Beverly ducked into the lab. Will’s eyes dropped down to the man’s hand, lifted just slightly from his side, and got the sense he was fighting himself to place a hand on Will’s shoulder. “You feeling better after yesterday?”

Will nodded, “I’m good Jack,” he remembered the cold deadness of the man in grave. “Um, sorry I had to leave the scene early.”

Jack just nodded again, “Well, at least your back today,” he said. Will nodded, though he certainly didn’t feel glad to he back. His head still throbbed dully with headache, and he felt an irrational dread of seeing the corpses, just around the corner. Their pale skin with their blanket of mushrooms. After a moment, Jack tilted his head and turned to enter the lab.

Will followed him through. Nine of the lab’s twelve morgue tables held the decomposing bodies dug up from the killer’s farm. There was the lingering smell of dirt and fungus in the air, and Will did his best to ignore it as he placed himself just beyond the small circle of people around one table, out of the way. Beverly shot him a small smile as he approached, while Price and Zeller were still focused intently on the corpse.

“Nine bodies, four humans, two werewolves, a bird shifter, a half-fae and a harpy.” Price said, looking up. “So this guy clearly didn’t seem to care about species, no necro-lifes though, so he at least liked his victims to start out alive.”

“Is it just me or do they smell somehow worse now?” Jack asked, grimacing slightly. Will looked down at the corpse, stiff and decomposing, large mushrooms clustering out of the flesh across his abdomen. Many smaller ones scattered and grouped along his arms, several clustering at the artery in his neck. The white lines of mycelium could just be seen creeping across the man’s pallid skin, and Will knew that more burrowed beneath it.

“Definitely more noticeable out of the fresh air,” Beverly nodded.

“They’re all at varying states of decomposition,” Price said, “looks like there was probably around a month between the first and the last. That of course would be the guy who wanted to shake hands with you.” Price gestured to Will, and Will frowned slightly at the other’s chipper attitude. “And they were also all soaked in a highly concentrated mixture of hardwoods, shredded newspaper, and pig poop. Rather pungent, and also perfect for growing mushrooms and other fungi.”

Zeller nodded, but held up a finger, “Wasn’t the mushrooms that killed them though, they all died of kidney failure.”

“Tests found dextrose in all the catheters.” Beverly added, leaning up against the wall near Will. “He probably used some kind of dialysis or even peristaltic to pump fluids after their circulatory systems broke down.”

“So he was force feeding them sugar water?” Will asked, mind focused on the fungus. It had definitely been planned, definitely an important element of the killer’s design.

“You know who loves sugar water? Mushrooms. They crave it.” Price said, and Will nodded in agreement.

“Recovering alcoholics crave it,” Zeller supplied, then glanced over at Price, “Uh don’t take that personal buddy.”

Price chuckled, “Oh, I’m not _recovering_.”

“Anyway, sugar feeds the natural fungus in the body, and that creates alcohol. Friends helping friends,” Zeller continued with a shrug.

“Its not just alcoholics who have compromised endocrine systems,” Will spoke up, “They all died of kidney failure? All of them, even the half-fae?”

“Yep. All of them,” Price cocked an eyebrow.

“What are you getting at Will?” Jack asked.

“Fae - and werewolves too, but especially fae - have particularly resilient endocrine and circulatory systems… unless they’re diabetic of course. Death by diabetic ketoacidosis.”

“Did we know they were diabetic?” Beverly asked.

“We _don’t_ know that they’re diabetic.” Zeller interjected, frowning.

“No.” Will shook his head, “They're all diabetics. He induces a coma and puts them in the ground.” then at the unconvinced stares he received he continued. “It makes sense, these were not week individuals, and there’s no evidence he used force to subdue them, no restraints, he wasn’t giving them any drugs. Nothing but sugar water.”

Zeller was still frowning, but Jack was nodding slowly. “Ok, yes. They were diabetic. It’s hard to smell under…” he waved a hand at the corpse on the table, “all that, but there’s a hint of it there, now that you mention it.”

“A werewolf’s nose knows,” Price shrugged, and Zeller sighed in acceptance.

“How’s he inducing diabetic comas? How does _he_ know they’re diabetics?” Beverly mused.

“He - he changes their medication,” Will realised, “so he’s a doctor, or a pharmacist, or he works somewhere in medical services.”

“There’ll be some connection between the victim’s medical practice that we can find. Won’t be hard to track him down from there.” Jack’s lips pulled back in a smile that showed teeth, “It’s a good lead.”

“So,” Beverly began, “He buries them, feeds them sugar water and keeps them alive long enough for their bodies to soak it up.”

“All to feed the mushrooms?” Price raised his eyebrows.

Zeller gave a sigh. “We dug up his mushroom garden.”

Will nodded slowly, his head felt full of mycelium. “He’s gonna want to grow a new one.”

 

*

 

“So this guy’s making some kind of spell?” Beverly asked, speeding up through an amber light.

“That’s what I _think_.” Will said, hand gripping the underside of his seat as Beverly took a corner just a little too fast for comfort. “He’s collecting… um, _ingredients_ , and the mushrooms are a big part of it all - the way they connect. And then there’s also the fact that he was keeping them alive, or rather he was… collecting their deaths. Their _dying_.”

“So why didn’t you tell Jack about this back in the lab?” Beverly shot him a glance before turning back to the road. Will preferred talking in the car. Less eye contact.

“I’ve got nothing more than a hunch and a dream. Not exactly evidence.”

“I get the feeling Jack would welcome any insight you might have for this. He’s also seemed very trusting of your dreams.”

“Yeah, but that was when I had something to back it up, or when evidence to back it up could easily be found. This isn’t even a normal kind of spell. The killer isn’t making a proper Circle or even using normal ingredients, he’s… constructing his own thing.”

“So he’s making an original spell? Is that unusual?”

“Uh,” Will paused for a moment. He didn’t know that much about spell casting, or hex building, but he’d found out perhaps a little more than the average person in previous cases. There had been someone killing people with hex traps once, and at one point they'd spent a month chasing a mage who was experimenting on people as he made spells. “It can be done, but he’s not even using the same…” he trailed off for a moment, trying to put into words the feeling surrounding the killer’s design. “Imagine a spell is liking cooking a meal. You can change the recipe, change the ingredients. But the process is always fundamental, and you always eat it at the end. With this killer, its like he’s not even making it from anything edible.”

“So… can it even be done?” Beverly asked, “If it’s not a real spell, will it even work?”

Will shrugged, “I don’t know. The killer believes it will.“

“Hmm,” Beverly, made a thoughtful noise, “and what does he think will happen? What’s he trying to do?”

Will turned his gaze out the window. Watched the road streak past beneath the wheels of the car, the lane markings flashing by fast enough that they almost blurred together, into one.

“Connection.”

They were silent for a while before - “We’re here,” the wheels of the car bumped over the rise into the hospital car park, and Will looked up at the building, he wasn’t particularly fond of hospitals, but who was? 

When he got out of the car he could see the hallucination of Abigail, standing off to the side and also looking up at the walls of her hospital. There was dried blood across the girls neck, a shadow on a shade.

“Alright, lets go,” Beverly gave him a faint smile as she grabbed a small bunch of flowers from the backseat of her car. Will shook his head, trying to dispel the hallucination, and followed Bev into the hospital. 

Doctors and Nurses scurried back and forth along the white halls, and Will stood back while Beverly talked to the receptionist, the woman behind the counter seemed to be frowning, and Will wondered if they would even be let in. They weren’t family, and they weren’t on police business, not any more.

Beverly made a gesture back at him, though he couldn’t hear her words, and the receptionist nodded, waving a hand in the vague direction of the East Wing.

“You know where you’re going?” Will asked as Beverly lead the way through the hospital.

“I was with the police that made sure she got here ok, she’s still… wanted for questioning. There’s procedure and paperwork to go with that.”

Will nodded in understanding and they walked for a moment longer in silence. “What did you say to the receptionist, to let us in?”

“Told her you were the man who saved Abigail Hobbs’ life, and that you wanted to see she was ok,” Beverly glanced over at his frown then shrugged. “Its true, and you _did_ want to check up on her.”

“Yes. But… I’m not exactly going to be her hero when she wakes up.”

Beverly paused for a moment, then rested her hand on his shoulder, he tried not to tense up at the contact. “You did what you had to do, and you _did_ save her life. If you hadn’t been there she would have had her throat cut and bled out on her father’s floor.”

“Her throat _was_ cut. Hannibal Lecter saved her life. I just ended her father’s.”

“And her father was trying to kill her at the time. You’re _not_ an idiot Will, you saved her life, you don’t have to try and beat yourself up over it.” Beverly squeezed his shoulder, and he let out a breath, before nodding.

“Good,” Beverly grinned up at him, “Let go see her then.”

Abigail’s room was clean, and neat, and empty of cards or flowers. The bright yellow and orange in the small bouquet Beverly had brought brightened the room as she put it in a vase by the bed.

Only an aunt, several states away, Beverly had said. No one else. The thought made Will feel bad for more than one reason.

The shade of Abigail watched him from by the window, then turned her pale eyes down to the girl on the bed. Will looked too. Abigail, the real one, was still as a corpse, he skin pale, bruises in the sockets of her eyes and creeping up her neck to her jaw. Dark hair limp against the pillow, hands small and frail by her sides. She was nearly swallowed in the sheets and pillows and there was a thick bandage around her neck. 

“Five days, and she still hasn’t woken up.” Will said, moving to the bed to sit on the very edge. The thin white oxygen tubes looked like mycelium across Abigail’s cheeks and under her nose. When he looked at the IV line that ran from her hand to the bag he remembered the corpses in the forest.

“The receptionist said they don't expect her to wake up for at least another few days…” Beverly trailed off.

“…If she even does wake up.” Will finished for her.

“She will. We’ve got to keep positive, right?” Beverly smiled slightly, and sat on the chair by the bed.

“Jack would be livid if she didn’t. She’s his key to her father’s murders. Where he took the bodies, if there are any to be found, that is,” Will sighed. He glanced up at the hallucination by the window, the shade of Abigail was still there, her throat uncut and unscarred, but there was blood on the top of her shirt, the same shirt she had worn they day Will had shot her father. 

“You think she did it? Helped him - I mean.” Beverly asked quietly, and Will pulled his gaze back to her.

“No. Garret Jacob Hobbs acted alone.”

“I can’t imagine she was a part of it. Especially not after what you said about her being… the one it was all about.” Bev leant back in the chair, sad eyes drifting to the girl on the bed. “You said her father killed those girls because they looked like her. Killed them because he didn’t want to be separated from her and consuming them was how he thought he could avoid losing her.

“She wasn’t helping him kill them,” he repeated, then sighed, reaching out a hand to tentatively place to fingers on the back of Abigail’s. Her skin felt warm, and he wondered if it was a part of being a pyromancer, he had seen in his dreams that those hands summoned fire. 

He glanced back at the hallucination by the window, who watched him with pale blue eyes and a sad expression on her face.

He looked away.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I cannot believe I'm fifteen chapters in and still technically only on episode 2.  
> Don't worry, I'm not going to follow the episodes exactly, and will be skipping a lot. I don't plan to be still writing this story twenty years from now haha  
> Anywho, new chap yay :)


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will and co look for a suspect.

Will’s phone rang, a harsh sound in his quiet house. Dusk had settled over the sky and a dark murkiness had seeped into the room while he had been sitting, distracted by his thoughts. He could still see the pale outline of the phone on his kitchen table however, and he lifted his hand from Winston’s furry head to answer it.

“Will. We’ve got a suspect, we need you to help bring him in. Now.”

“You haven’t taken him in yet?” Will asked, already standing and walking to the front door, pulling on his coat and checking the pockets for his keys. A couple of dogs followed him with a skitter of claws across his floor, hopeful for a walk.

“No. I want you there when we do. You understand the killer best. If this guy is… or isn’t, who we’re looking for I want to know as soon as possible.”

“Alright, I’m on my way.” Will closed his front door behind him, giving a consoling pat to the noses that tried to follow him out.

“Good.”

 

*

 

“When?” Will asked as they approached the building. 

“Reported by her sister yesterday afternoon.” Jack answered, nodding for the special agents he had brought to fall in behind them.

“He’s a quick worker, that’s only two days since we dug up his garden” Will murmured. The news didn’t surprise him, it fit with the mind of the killer they were hunting.

“She’s this chain’s tenth customer to disappear after filling a prescription for insulin, the second to disappear from this exact location,” Jack said, striding through the doors of the pharmacy, Will following close at his back and special forces fanning out along their sides, quiet and quick. Beverly, Price and Zeller followed after them, hands on guns.

“And the other eight?” Will asked.

“From all over the state, different Pharmacies, but only one pharmacist at all of them, and he should be right here - still logged into his workstation when we checked ten minutes ago. Right.” Jack paused for a moment as he approached the checkout, before lifting his voice.

“Everyone please stop what you are doing. Put your hands in the air.” He held up his badge at the frightened man behind the counter, “Special Agent Jack Crawford. Which one of you is Eldon Stammets?”

“Uhh,” the man at the counter looked over his shoulder, “Eldon was just here. Just now.” his eyes were wide as he held up his hands, his voice uncertain.

“Is his car still here?” Will spoke up quickly. Had the suspect known they were coming? Or had they just left of their own accord?

There was a pause of silence where the man behind the car just stared at Will.

“His car!” Jack shouted, Will could feel the frustration pouring off the werewolf, to be so close to his target just to lose him would _not_ make Jack happy.

“I- I don’t know. I don’t know which car he drives.” The man stammered.

“Will?” Jack turned to him, his hand heavy on Will’s shoulder.

Will shook his head, “It doesn’t work like that. I can’t tell what car is his.” Cars didn’t _feel_ things.

“Look anyway,” Jack grunted, moving towards the exit, leaving Will and the other agents with no option but to follow.

The employee parking lot was cold and dark at its edges, though flood lights illuminated the cars well enough.

“He’s gone Jack. If he knew we were coming he wouldn’t have taken his car, he’s too smart to get caught that way. Too rational,” Will said, though he tried looking for the vehicle anyway. Opening his eyes and mind to any little clue to be found. Discounting cars that were too flashy or too old and decrepit.

“Keep looking Will, if we find his car, we find evidence,” Jack growled. “If he’s too smart to get caught like you say, we won’t find him at his home. We _need_ this.”

Will nodded in defeat, stepping forwards, walking past the cars. Eyes flicking from detail to detail and mind pushing against the thoughts of the killer’s trying to find some _small_ thing he could use. That would help him find what he was looking for. Their killer was practical, but not a man of above average means. His car wouldn’t be anything too expensive, but he also wouldn’t use something that was at risk of breaking down. He had to transport the bodies somehow, so the most likely option would be a car which had a boot. Something closed in, no windows so it was dark, so likely a smaller car, though not too small either. He tried to work from the inside out, picturing in his mind the trunk of a car, the size and shape it would need to be. The texture of and grit of it against his skin. Then-

- _Darkness. Pressure. Dense, fertile dirt all around and pressed up against skin. A cold dull sensation all over_. _Cold, dry darkness packed too tight around him, he couldn’t move, arms deadened-_

“Will!” There was a hand on his shoulder, and Will realised he had fallen to his knees on the damp asphalt. He shook the hand off, thoughts fuzzy and slow, but with the sense that he was running out of time. He forced himself to his feet, stepping forwards. His mind felt half his own and half someone else’s, but not a killer’s this time. His vision was darkened and for a moment he was sure his eyes were closed. It was hard to think, hard to stand, but he pushed through it, through the fog that felt like his own brain starting to shut down. He had to move! he found himself jogging, then running across the ground until he was falling into the side of a car.

“Baton! Give me your baton!” He waved his hand frantically behind him until someone placed cold metal in his hand. He smashed the car’s front window. Glass shattering in to cover the seats. His arm pushed through the remaining shards to reach under the wheel and pop the boot. The darkness inside the car seemed to be swallowing him, but he stumbled back, running to the back of the car. The closer he got the more it felt like he was asleep, intentions dulled, thoughts sliding slow and faint through his mind.

The boot of the car was filled with dirt, and Will managed to push his hands into it, wiping it away from what lay beneath. Then his hands touched warm flesh, and he pulled the woman up from the dirt, fingers shakily reaching for a pulse.

“She’s alive!” He groaned, he could _feel_ his mind connected to hers. Sharing their emotions, like a pathway between them. Except she was asleep, and Will could feel it pressing in on his mind, forcing darkness to dance along the edges of his vision. The wakefulness of his own mind touching the borders of the woman’s would do nothing. Her mind was asleep, and her body - stuck in a diabetic coma - would not let that change.

“EMTs! Now!” Jack bellowed from behind him. Will dropped his hand from the woman as other hands took his place, bodies pushing between them as he staggered back. Jack’s hand pressed against his back to steady him, and Will leant forwards, dropping his head down. He pressed his eyes tight shut, as if to block out the connection, until it worked. The living minds, physically between his and the woman’s, forced a bigger gap between them, until Will was able to push away completely.

Jack’s hand was too warm and solid on the back of his shoulder, but grounding, so Will waited a moment before pulling away, and taking a few steps further from the car.

“How did you find it?” Jack’s voice was purposefully steady, as though trying not to set Will off… again.

“I… I linked with her mind. By accident.” Will swallowed thickly, “I knew where she was then.”

“She was awake?” 

“No. I don’t think _she_ even knew where she was. The killer - Eldon Stammets - would have waited long enough for her to fall into the coma on her own, then probably driven to her house to pick her up. Easy that way. She would not have known his car at any point. No, I… I don’t know. I just knew where she was - _felt_ where she was.” Will looked away. “Where’s Bev and the others?”

“Still inside. I got them to check for evidence at Stammets' workstation. See if they could dig anything else up.”

They stood for a moment longer, watching as the woman was removed from the dirt, the oxygen she was on checked, and the ambulance called. Jack spoke briefly to one of the EMTs, before beckoning Will back inside. “Let’s see if they found anything.”

When they entered Beverly and Price were close to the computer on the desk while Zeller was behind the counter, looking through cupboards. 

“Jack.” Price said, looking up, “we just checked the browser history on Stammets' computer…” he trailed off, glancing over at Will.

“Am I going to want to hear this?” Jack sighed.

“No. And yes. Probably mostly no.” Price grimaced slightly.

“Freddie Lounds. Tattlecrime.com.” Zeller spoke up from behind the counter. “Eldon Stammets was apparently a reader, but it’s more about what _she_ wrote.”

Beverly sighed then looked at the screen, taking hold of the mouse. “ _The FBI isn’t just hunting psychopaths, they’re headhunting them too, bringing them onto the payroll to use one deranged mind to catch another. Not only that, but these agents are allowed to lead investigations their own way, even crossing over into necromancy when it suits them. Disturbing the dead may not even be the worst case, when we allow agents to intimately connect with the minds of murderers in an effort to become them. Unstable and…”_ Beverly broke off, eyes flicking up.

“Keep going,” Jack pressed, eyes narrowed.

“It’s about Will,” Beverly’s eyes flittered to him, and Will tried to keep his face blank.

“Go on,” Jack repeated.

“ _Unstable and unbalanced - how can we trust the FBI to keep us safe when they employ minds like…_ ” She stopped again, “It goes into a lot of detail.”

“Son of a _bitch_.” Jack spat.

“There’s a picture too,” Price said slowly, “of Will.”

With a gentle look at Will, Bev turned the screen to face them. The picture was of the moment in the glade. Golden leaves in the background and Will, kneeling by the grave with Hannibal’s hands on his head and the dead man’s hand reaching up and gripping tight to Will’s wrist.

Will’s eyes moved to the article beside it. It mentioned him by name, and he felt a sour tightening in his stomach. It didn’t mention Hannibal’s name, but did talk about how, “ _if they were using a Demon as a measure of control”,_ how _uncontrollable_ and _potentially insane_ Will had to be.

“It’s Tattlecrime,” Beverly said gently, “The gossip mag of criminal offences. No ones going to take her seriously.”

“She has readers. People will read this,” Will said simply.

“Yes, and our killer is apparently one of them,” Jack frowned.

Will stared at the page until Beverly turned the screen back away. He tried to believe what Beverly had said, Freddie Lounds was not exactly a respected journalist, this article would likely not affect him much personally. But there would be talk, he knew others in the force already whispered about him, he didn’t wan’t to give them more things to talk about.

“We didn’t find much else, although we might get more from his home computer.” Bev shrugged. “Well. We know this is our guy now, we’ll have it by tomorrow. The question now is how to find him,” Jack said. “You said he wouldn’t try to take his car, wouldn’t go back to his home. Where might he go?” Jack turned to Will.

Will shrugged. “Hotels, somewhere he’s not connected to. He wouldn’t stay at friends or family.”

“Right, and there could be hundreds of hotels and motels and rooms for rent he could be at. Shit. We’ll get his description out at least, it _might_ help. Zeller!”

“Yes sir?” Zeller’s head shot up.

“Get the word out, and put out a recall on insulin for any of the stores Eldon Stammets has so much as been near. Got it?”

“Got it.”

Jack turned back to Will, expression serious, “Is he going to kill again, or lay low?”

Will thought back on the killer, on the patch of forest full of neat graves. On that sense of purpose, calm and collected. “He’s going to be careful. More careful than he was. He won’t be able to take people how he did before, it’ll be more difficult, take longer. But he’s not going to stop. He can’t stop now.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will and Hannibal speak in a hospital.

_Red and orange fire flickered in a line across the ground until it reach Abigail’s feet, where it climbed up her legs; bare beneath the hospital gown. She watched Will with quiet eyes, lifting an arm that carried fire. Will looked down and away, at the expanse of dark, damp earth on which they stood. Mycelium crawled across it, tangling beneath his own bare feet. Abigail stretched out her hand to him, her expression seemed caught somewhere between calm and frightened. Will took her hand - it was warm, but the fire in her palm did not burn him. Instead it spread along the back of his fingers and up to his wrist, encasing their joined hands. Abigail lifted her other hand._

_The pale corpse-lines of fungi began to burn._

 

Will’s eyes opened slowly to see Abigail - the real one, not the dream - still in her hospital bed across the room from him. There was a crick in his neck from his awkward position on the tiny couch, and he rolled over onto his back to relieve it. Then he noticed the unfamiliar coat on the back of the chair by Abigail’s bed, and sat up.

The door opened, and Will looked up into the crimson eyes of Hannibal Lecter, his hands clasped around two steaming styrofoam cups of coffee. 

“Will. You’re awake.” The doctor smiled and handed one of the hot cups over.

“I didn’t mean to sleep. When did you get here?” Will asked, a small frown on his face as he took the cup and took a sip. Not great coffee, but the caffeine was appreciated.

“Only a few minutes ago. I wanted to visit her myself.” Hannibal turned his gaze to the bed where Abigail lay - pale and motionless. The flowers Beverly had brought had wilted slightly, but were still a bright spot of colour in the otherwise pale room. 

“Were you dreaming?” Hannibal asked, a faint smile on his lips.

Will nodded, avoiding eye contact.

“About?”

“Who do you think?” Will tilted his head towards the bed. He blinked tiredly and took another sip of the coffee. 

There was silence for a while longer before Hannibal spoke, “It’s been seven days. The doctors say she has shown no signs of waking yet.”

“I know.” Will looked down at his hands clasped around the cup, then up at Abigail. He eyed the thick bandage on her neck that covered what must now be healing flesh, and thought of her father’s knife. He could remember the weight and feel of it in his hand, even though he’d never held it.  
“She has been through a highly traumatic experience. Her body and mind need time to repair before she can wake,” Hannibal said with an easy, calm confidence, taking a seat in the chair by the bed - across from Will.

Will’s gaze followed his movement, before looking away and fiddling with the rim of the styrofoam cup. He wasn’t even sure if he _wanted_ her to wake up. Well - of course he _did,_ her waking up would mean she wasn’t dying. Mean she had survived. But Will almost felt as if she was better off asleep, didn’t have to think about that moment in the kitchen - god knows Will had relived it enough for the both of them - and didn’t have to find out that both her parents were dead. That she was alone. 

That Will had killed her father.

He also wasn’t fond of the idea of Jack interrogating her, and he knew the man would as soon as the doctors let him. Or worse, he’d get Will to interrogate her.

At Will’s silence Hannibal spoke again, “Jack told me about what you did at the pharmacy. Connecting with the woman in the car.”

Will grunted, “You and Jack talk about me a lot do you?”

“On occasion. He and I had dinner last night, since his wife was out of town, he brought up what had happened.”

“You had dinner with my boss?” Will’s mind blanked for a moment.

“Indeed. He is an educated man with some interesting views, and I enjoy socialising with him.”

“Do you do that often?” Will asked before he could stop himself, then shook his head, “No, never mind.” 

His psychiatrist’s apparent friendship with Jack wasn’t the issue here, although he was surprised. Hadn’t really thought that Hannibal was regularly talking to anyone else at the BAU, other than handing reports over about Will. He tried to imagine Hannibal and Jack sitting down to dinner together, but couldn’t really make the picture work.

“Um, you talked about the pharmacy?”

“He said that you found the victim by accident, that you weren’t trying to connect with the woman?” Hannibal asked, his tone prodding Will into conversation. Will relented, he _had_ sort of wanted to talk to Hannibal about it after all.

“I was just trying to work out which car was the suspect’s, get a feel for what he’d own, and then… all of a sudden it was like I - I could sense where she was. I could feel her presence like…”

“Like a ghost?”

“Like it was my own body, like a phantom limb. A part of me, both there and not at the same time.” Will looked down at the cup in his hand, fingers tense against the sides, “But she was in a diabetic coma, connecting with her mind felt like my own was shutting down too.”

Hannibal nodded, “I was not there to shield you. My intrusion would have kept your mind you own.”

Will nodded slowly, “Yeah.” He remembered the crushing blankness against the edges of his vision, the weighted sensation of dirt pressing in on all sides - and shivered.

“And did you connect with our killer? This Eldon Stammets?”

“No, well, not like that. I don’t need oneiromancy to see him now.” Will paused then looked up into Hannibal’s red eyes. “You were right, its about connection. Its _all_ about connection. In the woods - the graves, its part of his recipe. Part of a _spell_. He’s trying to build some kind of enchantment.”

“An enchantment? What kind?” Hannibal raised an eyebrow.

“I don’t know, but something new. Something to help him connect with others, on a - on a level much more _complete_ than anything else.”

“Curious. New spells are rarely made. What makes you think this is what he’s doing? I don’t recall any spell castings at the crime scene.” The words were said with a calm interest, not doubting but probing for more information.

“It’s…” Will looked away, eyes falling back to Abigail. Her hallucination hadn’t followed him much today, but if he concentrated - or rather _didn’t_ concentrate - let his mind go blurry at the edges - he could see her standing by the window, peering out into the dull midday light. “I’d say its just a feeling. But it isn’t. I don’t exactly have proof, but I can tell.”

Hannibal inclined his head for Will to go on.

“I dreamt of the field. Of the bodies in the ground, and the killer. I could _sense_ his connection to them. The way he thought about them - he has _affection_ for them, he doesn’t see himself as hurting them. They were part of a bigger picture, his picture and he saw that as _good_ for them. But their deaths - the _process_ of them dying, as well as the fungi _were_ the spell castings.”

“That is…” Hannibal began.

“Not _usual_ , I know,” Will said, before continuing, “That’s why I haven’t told Jack about it yet. I know it might not seem possible, but this _is_ what he’s doing. The… affect he wants to have, its not about candles and ram’s skulls and blood of mice, so he’s not using those things. He’s not trying to summon anything, so he doesn’t need a circle…” Will trailed off, looking down into his slowly cooling coffee.

“He’s adapting the principles to fit his needs.” Hannibal said, “A mage uses a candle to focus their mind, or a ram’s skull to evoke the strength of the beast. What does our killer use?”

Will barely had to think - “Fungi, that’s about connection - clearly. He um, he positioned the bodies close enough that the mycelium would join between them.” Will though of the corpses in their shallow graves. “Their deaths, the moment of their dying…”

“The energy leaving their bodies could be a fuel for him? Powering his enchantment,” Hannibal suggested, eyes steady on Will.

“…Yes and no…” Will began, “Their life. It’s not so much their death - the moment someone dies is still life, a last desperate moment of trying to survive. Its… I think its that energy he’s trying to use.” 

“Someone on the edge of death is more likely to want connection with others, in the hopes of improving their chance of survival, or simply to ease their passing,” Hannibal nodded.

“So its all about meaning? The um… parts of a spell, that how it works?” Will asked, mind moving closer to the logic behind the killer’s actions, more than just their emotions.

Hannibal inclined his head, “Generally speaking yes. Meanings and symbols, semiotics, communication, these hold vast amounts of power; if you know how to unlock it. If you understand the meaning of a word, or the symbolism of an object, you have power over it.”

“Like names,” Will said, “ _don’t tell the witch your true name or she might cast a hex on you.”_ He shrugged awkwardly, remembering the words of older relatives from slightly less understanding times. Less understanding places. 

“Do you believe in the power of names? 

Will shrugged, “I don’t know that much about… all that kind of stuff, but-” he glanced off to the side, “Everything has power if you know how to use it.”

Hannibal’s eyes crinkled in the shadow of a pleased smile, “Indeed. It is also said that names reflect the life a person has, or might have.” He followed Will’s gaze to Abigail on the bed, “Do you know what the name Abigail means?”

Will shook his head.

“It means father’s joy,” Hannibal turned back to Will, head tilted just slightly as though he was gauging Will’s reaction.

Will’s mouth twitched into a smile that was mostly pain. “Fate likes cruel jokes.”

“Perhaps so. It was her father’s love that almost killed her.”

Will remembered blood on a kitchen floor, he could still feel the remnants of Garret Jacob Hobbs in his mind, no matter how hard he tried to push them out, “It killed him too.”

Hannibal sat back in his chair, and Will let his eyes skitter back over the form in the bed, swathed in white sheets with purple shadows beneath her eyes and yellow iodine-stain-bruises on her jaw.

He felt kind of like she looked. Wrung out and thin, someone’s knife in his arteries, bleeding him slowly. The background hum of his mind still felt like it reflected Hobbs’ last moments, a sense of desperate possessive fear, and a quiet voice rasping ‘See… See…’.

Will could see well enough now, his problem was in trying _not_ to see.

“True names are famous in folk-lore for their link to enchantment.” Hannibal began again, “Their ability to control the destinies of their bearer. Of course, there is much more to a person than their name, which is why spells meant to affect a person often require a sample of their DNA - a lock of their hair, or even just an item close to them. But like most things, the skill of the caster is the greatest factor in success.” Hannibal smiled faintly.

“It depends on the way they can make meanings work for them.” Will nodded, Hannibal’s explanation slotting into what he already knew.

“Or work within the tried and tested bounds of traditional spells.” A pause, as Hannibal leaned slightly closer to Will, “Is our killer a skill-full man?”

“He’s…” Will let his mind drift back to the glade, back to Eldon Stammets' mind and away from Garret Jacob Hobbs’. “He’s not one for traditional methods. Not because he disagrees with them, but because his mind - the way he sees the world…” Will struggled, “Traditional spells wouldn’t be the simplest way for him. Not the cleanest.” Will knew his wording didn’t quite make sense, didn’t quite explain the _feeling_ of Eldon Stammets, and he twisted his lips into an apologetic smile, before looking away, this time out the window.

There was silence for a while, and Will drank the last of his coffee, and made a face at the way it was now cold. He placed the empty cup on the little table by the couch, and sat back. Arms crossed loosely in his lap. Hannibal watched him, and Will felt self-conscious of his slouch, though he didn’t have the energy to shift his position.

“The killer chooses nature above artifice. He chooses the fungi above names. What does this tell you?” Hannibal asked, mimicking Will’s posture and relaxing back a little further in his chair, although unlike Will his back was straight, legs crossed elegantly and hands loose at his side. One still holding the styrofoam coffee cup. Will felt like the neurotic closed-in ball to Hannibal’s actual human-ness, ignoring the fact that the other was a demon.

Will shrugged, “Nothing much, he looks at people and wonders why they don’t see what he sees, when it is so clear to him, so obvious. He doesn’t reject… _artificiality,_ the man-made, its just not the most convenient way to get what he wants. It’s not… simple enough for him. Not powerful enough.” Will shrugged a little helplessly, before frowning. “What matters now is finding him. Working out where he’s hiding.”

Hannibal nodded, “Or letting him reveal himself.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry, its been a bit too long since the last update, and here's another talky chap without much happening :/  
> Next chap should be more fun though :)


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A hallucination. A confrontation. Will discovers more about fire.
> 
> *Warning for the fire*

Will’s eyes were having difficulties staying open, and it had only been perhaps two hours since he and Hannibal had talked. Despite his troubles, he couldn’t quite convince himself to leave the hospital, though he knew he’d need to go home to his dogs soon. Hannibal had left with the promise to return on his way back from his practice, and Will was left alone with his thoughts and with Abigail. 

He rubbed a hand over his face and blinked at the girl lying on the bed, then allowed his gaze to drift up to the hallucination that sat on the end of the mattress, watching him with a tiny confused frown on her face. He blinked again to try and dispel the shade, but her vaguely see-through image only flickered in and out of existence for a moment before returning, as strong as ever. As if sensing his attempt the hallucination gave a half-hearted shrug.

He closed his eyes. He should leave, drive home and see to his dogs. Maybe have another quick nap before he left so he wouldn’t fall asleep at the wheel. He hadn’t been sleeping well - waking from dreams or staying up in some attempt to avoid them. He didn’t want to sleep now, didn’t want to give his subconscious full control over what he saw. Even excluding the nearly ever present hallucination of Abigail, the corners of his vision were already crawling and crackling with mycelium, their pale lines flickering in some kind of eerie firelight. He did his best to ignore it.

Despite it all, he wasn’t ready to leave just yet. A vague nagging worry had settled into his gut and wouldn’t release him. Some remnant of Eldon Stammets or Garret Jacob Hobbs forming into a sense of muted urgency that he couldn’t quite dispel.

He didn’t really like leaving Abigail alone either, with no family or friends to visit her. He knew Alana had come once or twice since helping move her down from Minnesota, and he thought that maybe Beverly had come again since they’d visited together, but wasn’t sure. He’d seen into some of the other rooms on this floor of the hospital, glimpsed balloons and flowers and _families_. 

Abigail would get none of that, and Will knew he was no substitute. He was the man who’d shot her father, and who hadn’t been quick enough to save her. 

After several long minutes of sitting stiff on the couch, Will sighed and got to his feet, ignoring the way he swayed just slightly. He cast a glance back at the hallucination of Abigail sitting calmly on the bed, and the real, pale body lying behind it, before wandering to the door. He could get a another of the hospital-grade coffees at least. Maybe it would wake him up and help banish the faint visions holding him captive.

It was slowly nearing dusk, but the hospital outside of Abigail’s room felt nearly same as it did when he had arrived, several hours earlier. Perhaps a few less people around. Nurses and doctors barely spared him a glance as they passed, though the familiar looking nurse behind the desk gave him a nod as he walked by towards the hot water boiler.

He brain ached, as he set about pouring himself out a cup, adding a little too much of the cheap coffee powder to the mix. He grimaced at the taste, then took a large gulp, nearly scalding his tongue on the hot liquid. He wondered if he should wait for Hannibal to return before leaving. Part of him wanted to avoid seeing the man all together. He was tired, and not in the mood to trade theories with his psychiatrist while said psychiatrist watched him with those intense eyes. Eyes that definitely saw more than the average person; though Will wasn’t quite sure yet whether that was a demon thing or just because Hannibal was so astute. Maybe it was both.

Will’s eyes drifted to the clock on the wall while he took another, smaller, sip of the coffee. It wasn’t too late yet, he could stay for another hour or so, and then he would leave, regardless of whether the background need to _stay_ was still present. He pressed fingers into the bridge of his nose and winced as another stab of pain travelled through his skull, before pulling the bottle of pain killers out of his pocket.

He imagined how Eldon Stammets would look at the pills, and felt the echoes of the other man’s calm thoughts. Medicine wasn’t sacred to Stammets, it was a control, a tool. At the back of Will’s mind he could see the neat little rows of fake insulin, then the pale forms of fungi bloom. 

He put the bottle away again without taking any. Probably best not to mix it with the amount of caffeine he was drinking anyway.

He had just turned to make his way back to Abigail’s room when his phone buzzed in his pocket, and he fished it out with a faint frown.

“Hello?” Another ripple of headache traveled across his skull. In the shadows of the corridor the hallucination of Abigail flickered in and out of existence like bad projection.

“Will. Are you at the hospital?” Jack’s voice was urgent, and Will tried to concentrate on what he was saying, but the shade of Abigail looked panicked, unlike he’d ever seen it before, eyes wide and arm flickering and pointing back along the hall. Will’s steps sped up.

“Uh yes, I’m here,” he said, phone cold against the side of his face.

“It’s Stammets. He paid a visit to Lounds and he knows about Abigail,” Jack spoke quickly.

Will’s hand dropped -phone falling away to dangle by his side as he hung up, Jack’s next words unheard. He broke into a jog. 

The hallucination of Abigail flickered in front of him, several afterimages stacked on top of each other. All with frightened eyes and pale skin. Will’s jog turned into a run as he passed several startled nurses before barrelling through the open doorway of Abigail’s room.

The bed was empty, sheets pulled back and there was _no Abigail -_ and Will felt a cold panic slide into his gut like a bucket of ice water. He turned from the room, grabbing at the first person he saw in hospital scrubs.

“The girl, Abigail Hobbs? Where is she?” Will was aware he sounded manic, he tried to pull back from the edge of fear at the startled look in the nurse’s eyes, but was distracted by the sensation of heat against his right side.

“I - I don’t know. I think they took her for tests,” the nurse stammered out, but Will was already letting her go, pushing himself down the corridor, following the smell of smoke and the hallucination of a frightened young woman. Abigail had no tests scheduled for today, he’d checked before he’d come to visit. Will would have put it down to a simple change of plans if not for Jack’s phone call, if not for the way dread filled his veins and Abigail flashed in and out of reality in front of him.

He thought he heard someone calling his name, but ignored it as another bolt of pain stabbed through his skull, and Will grasped at the wall for a moment to steady himself, before continuing. The elevators were in front of him, but Abigail was pointing at the door to the stairs, and then to the floor beneath her bare, see-through feet. Her mouth was opening and closing as though she was speaking, but Will couldn’t hear any words. Only the faint sound of a crackling fire over the racing of his own heart.

He pushed open the door to the stairs, and descended through the cold and unused stairwell. It was dimly lit, and another throb of headache had fungi growing up from the shadows in the corners. The soles of his shoes slapping against the naked concrete as he went down, down, several floors passing him by until he was bursting through onto the sub-basement level. The shade of Abigail a half-visible beacon ahead of him.

Down here the hospital was empty, and if Will had to guess he would say he was now in a network of service corridors, or emergency exits. There was a car park in the basement, was that where he was heading? Eldon Stammets had to have taken Abigail, Will didn’t have time to consider anything else, did he have a car? _Damnit,_ Will should have thought of that, should have told Jack to look for anyone buying or hiring the right kind of car in a hurry. _Stupid, stupid!_

Footsteps sounded on the stairs behind him, but he ignored it. Ahead of him he could see Abigail running, the hallucination pushing him on. He could smell the musty rot of fungus now, almost overpowering as he rounded a corner, and then he was not alone. Ahead of him, _too far ahead of him,_ a man in a set of scrubs that didn’t _quite_ fit was pushing a stretcher, and Abigail Hobbs was lying on it.

“Hey!” Will shouted, “Freeze!” The man twitched in shock and threw a startled glance over his shoulder to Will, but didn’t stop, instead swinging the bed around in the narrow corridor so he was pulling it not pushing, the bed now between him and Will.

Will’s gaze barely took in the rough stubble, or the mousey, pale hair, instead falling into the eyes, bright with a kind of fevered need.

“The journalist said you understood me!” The man, Stammets, said, still pulling back on the bed, it clanged and bounced off a wall, the bedding shaking and Abigail’s head falling sideways on the pillow. 

Will was running, taking long strides to catch up to the rattling stretcher. Losing sight for a second as it rounded a corner. He wished he had his gun on him, and cursed himself for leaving it in his car. He rounded the corner, how far away from the car park where they? He had too catch up, couldn’t let the man disappear with Abigail Hobbs. Did Stammets have a weapon, have a gun? Would he use it?

“Stop!” The voice wasn’t Will’s, it was deeper, accented, and Will finally became aware of Hannibal several feet back. To Will’s surprise, and by appearances also to Stammets’, the man did stop, hands releasing the bed in a hurry and falling back against the wall. Will also stumbled for a moment, the authority in the Hannibal’s tone causing his own legs to try and slow down at the order.

Will spared a glance back at Hannibal. The demon’s eyes were practically _glowing_ , hints of acrid, oily, smoke wafted out from between the cuts of his suit, and Will wasn’t certain whether or not he was hallucinating it. He was definitely hallucinating the form of Abigail at his own side however. Her hands were clenched, white knuckled, and her eyes flickered with the heat of a candle flame. She wavered, but then appeared stronger and more solid than she had ever done before. Will didn’t have time to think about it, didn’t have time to think about how his _hallucination_ had led him here. Had his subconscious know about Stammets? He didn’t think he was linked with the killer’s mind on a level like this, and it didn’t feel like the woman in the car park.

Will shook of his thoughts and stumbled forwards, one hand bracing himself on the corner of the stretcher, the other reaching fingers down to check Abigail’s pulse, unsteady as they pushed just under the bandage. What if Stammets had already done something to her? Injected her with something? The relief at Abigail’s steady pulse was not quite enough to muffle the fear that thudded through his veins

Hannibal only took another cautious step forwards, still a few steps back from Will, watching intently, his face as unreadable as a stone.

“What were you going to do to her?” Will asked, although he felt like he already knew. 

“We all evolved from mycelium, I was simply reintroducing her to the concept,” Stammets gasped, his hand curled against his chest. He sounded like he thought Will already knew as well.

“Burying her alive? To power your spell?” Will’s voice was partly a gasp as he panted from the mad sprint down here, and he pulled back on the bed, dragging Abigail a little closer to himself, and a bit further away from the killer leant up against the wall in front of him.

“No, she would have been the focus. You would have seen,” the mad glint was back in the other man’s eyes, “If you walk through a field of mycelium, they know you are there! The spores reach for you as you walk by. I know who _you’re_ reaching for. I know!” His eyes fell to Abigail, and Will resisted the urge pull her back further, drag her stretcher bed back down the corridor, behind Hannibal and away. 

“Abigail Hobbs,” Stammet’s continued, pushing himself up from the wall, “And you should have let me plant her - you would have found her in a field, where she was finally able to reach back. I read about you! You can understand, you _do_ understand. You should have let me bury you both. You could have felt our network! Felt _her_ through the network, _knew_ her. With your _level_ of understanding you could have been the missing piece, the energy that brings it all together. Brought Abigail Hobbs a connection.”

She would have been dead, eaten by fungi and decomposing under the pressure of dark, rotting earth, Will thought - but didn’t have the energy to say, His head ached, half repulsed by the killer’s mad enthusiasm, half at the desperate belief to his tone that Will was all to familiar with. Instead of responding, he tightened his hand minutely on the girl’s shoulder. 

Stammets didn’t stop at the lack of response  “But you can, you still can!” He lurched fully onto his feet, leaping forwards more quickly than Will could react, one hand grasping shockingly tightly on Will’s forearm, the other lifting into the air. 

Will could see a mark scarred onto the other’s palm. A complex sigil that looked like it had been cut with a knife, still fresh enough that the skin was inflamed, dried blood fallen into the crease lines of his hand. The air seemed to shimmer, and then grow cold, and a sharp pain rocketed up Will’s arm from Stammet’s grip, and speared into his head. He tried to jerk away but Stammets' grip was strong. On the other side of the stretcher the hallucination of Abigail was staring, mouth slightly parted, body tense, flickering in and out of sight. Will let out a cry of pain, the air growing colder, dead around him. Stammets eyes shone bright with cold madness only inches from Will’s own. His hand was descending, coming closer to Will and Abigail.

Then the Hallucination of Abigail reached out her hand, and Will _felt it touch his shoulder,_ as solid as a breeze but still _there_ , and Will’s left hand, still resting on Abigail’s shoulder, grew hot. Intense warmth flew up his arm, across his body and down the cold arm, crackling along his skin. He could see fire in the darkness of his own mind, he could _see it flickering along Abigail skin_ , up over her face and neck and hair, and Stammets could see it too judging by the way his gaze shifted and his breath sucked in with a gasp.

Then moments later Eldon Stammets was burning. Fire bursting into existence on the sleeve that brushed against Will’s arm, flames racing up Stammets’ clothing until he let out a scream, finally releasing Will and stumbling backwards. Fire following until the man was engulfed in gold and orange flames. Stammets screamed louder, arms flailing, and Will’s hand tightened on Abigail’s shoulder, he managed a half step back, bumping into the solid form of Hannibal behind him. The demon’s hands passed Will’s side, one grasping a tight hold on the frame of the stretcher and another on Will’s wrist, the one not holding Abigail, and pulled them both back, several steps away from the burning man.

Will stumbled back in a daze, his back nearly pressed flat against Hannibal’s chest, and eyes still locked on Stammets as the man fell to his knees. The screaming stopped as the flames pulsed brighter, white hot and painful to look at, yet Will didn’t look away. Then the shape of Stammets fell forwards onto the concrete, fire flickering against blackened skin.

Hannibal pulled them all back further, and Will suddenly gagged at the smell of burnt flesh, his throat felt clogged with ash. His skin prickled with heat all over and smoke twisted up from the body, leaving blackened flesh behind. With effort, he tore his gaze away from the fresh corpse as his stomach turned, his eyes wide and breathing speeding up. 

A slight and unexpected pressure on the hand holding Abigail jerked him out of the moment, and he looked down. The girl’s eyes were closed, but her arm was reaching up, palm pressed against the back of Will’s hand holding her shoulder. Her brows were pulled into a frown, lips parted slightly.

Then Abigail opened her eyes. Bright blue looked up at him with an expression of concentration, face hardened. She opened and closed her mouth a few times before seeming to gather the energy to speak, voice cracked and faint.

“Will,” she said.

Will stared in silence as the fire alarm went off, emergency sprinklers showering water down onto them all.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wooo, this chapter was slightly longer than usual, and hopefully more interesting too! Another chap that I've been itching to get to. Hopefully you enjoyed it as much as I did :)
> 
> Also hopefully Eldon Stammets burning to death wasn't too much, but I mean, this is 'Hannibal', several people were burnt alive on that show, I'm only following tradition :P
> 
> And Abigail has woken up! Knowing Will's name! Drama!


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of Stammets death is dealt with.

Abigail’s wide open eyes were on him, even as the doctor spoke to her while a nurse checked underneath the bandage around her neck, carefully peeling it away. Will pulled the blanket he’d been given tighter around his damp shoulders, and glanced over at Jack, leaning up against the wall. The werewolf had turned up shortly after they had gotten out of the basement level. Hannibal’s hand a steady weight on Will’s shoulder as nurses and doctor’s had swarmed around Abigail’s stretcher. 

The body in the basement was being dealt with, but Will could still feel the bloom of heat against his skin. Could still taste acrid smoke and burning flesh on the back of his tongue. Hannibal was speaking to a doctor on the far side of the room but he glanced back at Will on occasion, as though checking to make sure that Will was still there, and wasn’t having a complete breakdown.

Will’s eyes were drawn back to Abigail and to the healing gash on her neck, it was Will’s first time seeing the wound since he’d held his hands over its bleeding, spurting gape. Crimson spreading across a linoleum floor and soaking wet and warm into his shirt sleeves. His gaze focused in on the black stitches and the fading bruises spreading across her skin. The wound had been disturbed sometime during the incident, and a small trickle of blood was leaking down Abigail’s neck. As he watched, it was covered with a fresh bandage and hidden from his sight.

Jack heaved a sigh and came to sit by Will, his nose twitching slightly as he lowered himself into the chair. Will wondered if he smelled like death.

“Well. You did say she was a pyromancer,” Jack said with a grunt looking over at Abigail who was now talking with her Doctor, her hands tight on the blanket covering her legs. 

Her hair was still damp.

Will nodded silently and Jack turned to face him fully.

“Eldon Stammets is dead. Burnt to a crisp in the basement of a hospital, and she killed him.” Jack gestured across the room.

“It was self defence,” Will said quietly. He could still feel the phantom sensation of the fire-hot warmth that had travelled through him, like a conduit for her magic. She had been asleep and he had been awake, so she had used him to bring her magic into reality. He remembered his hallucination of her - probably not a hallucination after all, now that he thought about it. The shade had not reappeared since Abigail had woken. He tried not to think about it too deeply, not now, not yet. He didn’t have the energy to fall into the hole of questioning himself, his sanity. His abilities.

“The sigil on his hand?” Jack interrupted his thoughts, “Doctor Lecter told me about it.”

“Of course he did.” Jack and Hannibal talked a lot, Will remembered inanely. “I didn’t recognise it, and it… it deadened the air around us. I’m not sure what it would have done, but he would have killed us both in time. The sigil itself was probably something new he’d created, he was making a new kind of spell, with the bodies in the wood.”

“Ah yes. Hannibal mentioned something about that too.” Jack nodded, then ran a hand though his short hair. Will could sense the other man wanted to say more, so he said it for him.

“You still think she was involved in her father’s crimes?”

“She killed a man today. Self defence or not, that says something about a person.”

“He would have killed us, I could see it in his eyes,” Will looked back over at Abigail, who glanced up at him for a moment before looking back to her doctor. 

“Both you and Hannibal were there, two against one, not including her.” Jack said pointedly.

“The sigil - I could feel its affects through him, through the air. If it had touched her… or me…” Will trailed off for a moment, before briefly locking eyes with the werewolf’s yellow ones, “It would have killed us, poisoned us, it was _dangerous_.” Will looked away, breaking eye contact when Jack’s nostrils flared. He wondered what Hannibal would have done, had Abigail not woken up at that moment, not turned Eldon Stammets into a pillar of flames. He couldn’t imagine Hannibal losing in a fight with Stammets, the demon too clever, and simply bigger than Stammets’ lanky form. But perhaps he would have, perhaps they would have all died, only to be buried under cold, heavy dirt, the fungi sprawling through their bodies.

There was silence that lasted for long enough for Will to catch Abigail’s glance again before he spoke, quietly.

“She didn’t do it. Help her father I mean.”

Jack sighed, “We don’t know that yet, and either way she needs to be questioned.” He paused. “But we’ll talk about this another time,” his tone of voice was one that declared the matter closed, at least for the moment.

It was probably best not to discuss accusing her of murder only a room’s length away from the girl herself. Will had to agree on that at least.

Jack stood, picking his coat up from the arm of the chair. “Unfortunately I do need to sign off on the scene in the basement. We’ll talk more later.”

Will nodded as the other man left. Then looked up as Hannibal approached him, standing by his chair.

“How are you feeling?” Hannibal asked, and Will almost wanted to laugh at such a stereotypically _psychiatrist_ question, at a time like this. He might have even let his lips tilt up in a smile, if he didn’t think it would have cracked something inside of him.

“I’m not feeling great,” Will responded flatly, he could still taste smoke against the roof of his mouth, behind his teeth.

Hannibal apparently chose to ignore his attempt at sarcasm, instead reaching out to adjust the hem of the blanket across Will’s shoulders. “Are you cold? I can find you a blanket if you need it.”

Will wasn’t quite expecting that, and he looked away, feeling almost contrite.

“Ah, no. I’m fine.”

“Good, and your arm?” 

Will’s hand reflexively shifted to the arm that Stammets’ had grabbed, it felt fine now, with nothing but the faint sensation of heat crackling beneath the skin.

“Fine,” he answered.

“I am glad,” Hannibal smiled, more with his eyes than his mouth, then looked up as Abigail’s doctor left the room, the two sharing a nod. Then it was just the three of them, Abigail in her hospital bed, and Will and Hannibal across the room.

Hannibal patted a hand on his shoulder, before walking across the floor to stand by Abigail’s bed, Will followed, somewhat more hesitantly.

“Abigail. I’m Doctor Hannibal Lecter,” he began, taking a seat in the chair by the head of the bed, “I am a psychiatrist.”  
“I know.” Abigail frowned slightly, but otherwise her face was mostly blank. Will could sense her tiredness, could feel her numbness reflected in himself.

“Ah, yes,” Hannibal turned a glance back at Will, a slight smile playing around the edges of his expression. “It seems you and Will know each other.”

At Abigail’s hesitation he continued. “You spoke his name when you awoke, but I do not believe you two had ever met before.”

“We haven’t.” Will said quietly. Not before those seconds - minutes? he wasn’t sure - in the kitchen.

Abigail was silent for a moment longer, her tired eyes locking onto Will. He thought he might have been able to see flames, flickering low within the depths of her pupils, before she turned back to Hannibal.

“We haven’t… met. But yes. I _know_ him, Will Graham,” she spoke to Will then, “I know you.”

“I…” Will began, then decided to say it - “You helped me find you. When he took you?” He recalled the shade of Abigail in the hospital hallways, frantic eyes and flickering hands.

Abigail nodded slowly, “I remember it, and I don’t. But I saw you. I’ve _seen_ you…” her fingers kneaded the blanket across her knees, “It’s difficult to remember now, like a dream.” 

“The incident at your home? You saw him then,” Hannibal suggested.

Abigail flicks her gaze between them. She wasn’t nervous, no energy for that, but she was hesitant, and Will could feel the pain behind her eyes. Too tired to unwrap it all now, but it would come.

“I did, I think, but after as well,” She turned her gaze back to Will, “I saw you in the field of black water, and a field full of shallow graves and mushrooms,” she tilted her head at Hannibal. “You kept me away. Blocked us.”

“My intrusion on Will’s mind blocked outer influences,” Hannibal agreed.

“My hallucinations, the dreams… They were you - _really_ you, weren’t they?” Will had to be certain, had to know it wasn’t just his mind breaking apart at the edges, that she had seen it too.

Abigail nodded slowly, “Yes, I think. You saw me too.”

“You linked with her mind,” Hannibal was nodding, “you are a dream walker, or something akin to it. I admit, I did not quite expect that.”

“A dream walker?” the words were familiar in Will’s mind, but in his tired state he couldn’t quite grasp how it connected.

“When you thought of Abigail, your mind reached out, it touched with her’s and drew her to you. Like the woman in the car, but this time she was able to see back to you,” Hannibal explained, “Her mind was awake just enough to allow the connection. You are a powerful but uncontrolled oneiromancer, you drew her to your dreams by accident, and those dreams manifested as hallucinations in your waking hours. When I performed my intrusion on you, it broke the link between your minds, at least temporarily”

“I… see. I think,” Will said slowly, looking back to Abigail. It made sense. Even now he could feel the very edges of her mind against his. Stammets had said he wanted to connect them. It seemed they had been at least partially connected already.

“The altercation at the Hobbs’ residence, you said you felt the wounds everyone else obtained?” Hannibal asked Will directly then, and Will noticed the interest sparked deep behind the other’s eyes.

“Um, yes,” Will nodded, his fingers making an abortive motion towards his own neck, “I felt it, when Abigail was wounded,” he let his eyes drop to the bandage around Abigail’s neck. She moved her hand up to touch the bandage, in a motion that seemed subconscious.

“You’re minds linked at that point then, in some respect,” Hannibal nodded, “It is likely it was that moment which allowed such a strong bond between your mind and her’s, allowed for the two of you to share dreams,” he smiled, “It was fortunate, since that appears to be what allowed Will to find you today.”

Will frowned slightly, a thought occurring, “How did you know where you were? I was following you’re directions, but you were still in a coma.”

“I…” Abigail trailed off for a moment, confused, “I heard his voice, heard him mention the basement parking… I think.”

“Studies suggest coma patients can often hear what goes on around them,” Hannibal supplied.

“I remember thinking that if I found you, you could fix it. Stop him,” Abigail continued, eyes on Will. “But I think… it was almost more like I sensed it, like I knew, or… like _you_ knew.”

“I…” Will breathed out, “I wasn’t connected to _him_. Not like that.”

“I think it likely that your empathy allowed you to gain some insight into Eldon Stammets’ actions,” Hannibal said, “you’re knowledge and Abigail’s combined would have been enough to find him.”

Will dipped his head in acceptance, it seemed logical.

Abigail sighed, breath trembling and eyes blinking shut for a moment. “I don’t really remember it all, the last clear thing was the basement, I reached out to you, to stop him,” she paused, opening her eyes but looking at the blankets, “I killed that man, didn’t I?”

Hannibal nodded, “You did, though it was self defence.”

She let out a breath, “I just remember thinking he was going to kill us, I think I did pick that up from you,” she looked to Will before continuing “he was going to kill us, so I tried to fight back. I didn’t mean to…” She trailed off. “I guess it doesn’t matter now.”

“No, I suppose it doesn’t,” Will agreed quietly, his eyes skittering away from those in front of him to rest on the wall. He tried not to think too hard about burnt flesh and black smoke.

“You did what you needed to do to protect yourself, and Will, despite what anyone else might think,” Hannibal said, slipping slightly into what Will privately thought of as his ‘therapist’ voice.

Abigail just nodded, her eyes slightly downcast. Will could sense the tiredness catching up with her, and apparently Hannibal could too as he straightened.

“It is getting late. Perhaps you would like to sleep,” the psychiatrist said gently, standing up, “Will and I will visit in the morning.”

“Oh, um I might… stay for a bit longer?” Will’s voice lifted into something like a question, and he glanced hesitantly down at Abigail. She looked up at him for a moment before nodding.

“Very well,” Hannibal said, seemingly unbothered, “We’ll talk again tomorrow.” The demon left, casting a last glance back at Will before he closed the door behind him.

Will settled gently on the chair by the bed, not looking at Abigail just yet. He could feel her eyes on him though, bright blue, brighter than her fathers had been.

They were both silent for a while, listening to the quiet sounds of the hospital. It _was_ late, nearly midnight, and Will was glad he had called his neighbour to check in on his dogs. He didn’t think he would be getting home tonight, another sleep in a too-small hospital couch seemed to be in his future. He hoped Abigail wouldn’t mind him sleeping in the same room as her now she was awake, he didn’t want to… leave her alone, not just yet.

Abigail sighed quietly, and Will looked over to see her leaning back against the pillows. She suddenly looked exhausted, and Will could empathise all too easily. 

“We’re still… what did he say? Linked. Aren’t we?” she asked, “I can still feel you on the edges of my thoughts.”

“Yes, I’m not sure how to stop it, but Hannibal - Doctor Lecter can probably help… figure something else.” Will answered as truthfully as he could. It was subtle but he could still feel her mind, could still sense her in a way that was more than his usual empathy. Could follow the direction of her thoughts more easily.

It seemed like it was a two way connection, or else she was as empathetic as he was, when she made a noncommittal sound, before speaking again, “You can stay the night in here. If it’s too late for you to go home. The nurses shouldn’t care since you’re with the FBI.”

Will wondered if it was hope he could hear in her voice. Perhaps she didn’t want to be left alone either. “Ok.”

“Can you… can you turn off the light?” There was a slight tension in Abigail’s voice, like she was very carefully keeping it from breaking.

Will got up and turned off the light. The room wasn’t exactly pitch black, light from the corridor came under the door, and there was a faint glow from the medical monitors still near the bed, but it was dark enough that he found it difficult to see Abigail’s face as he made his way back to the chair.

His hand rested on edge of the mattress as they sat together in silence. Will let out a breath, and let his eyes close. They’d got their killer, or at least stopped him. Stammets was dead, and wouldn’t be killing again. Abigail was awake, and Jack still thought she’d had something to do with her father’s murders. Will wondered if their mental link would be enough to convince Jack that Abigail hadn’t killed anyone. He closed his eyes against the darkness of the room. He felt numb, tired, a creeping exhaustion had settled into his limbs, something that was both his and Abigail’s. He could sense her tiredness, the left over from her coma and from the basement, and he could sense the rising impact of reality on her, the growing realisation of what was real and what had happened.

There was a hesitant warm touch against his fingers, then Abigail’s hand was resting just next to his, the skin on the sides of the hands pressed together.

“My… my parents,” Abigail’s voice was quiet and steady, but Will still felt his heart jolt when she spoke. “They’re dead, aren't they?”

“Yes.”

“You killed my father,” It wasn’t a question, but Will answered it anyway.

“Yes. I’m… I’m sorry.”

Abigail nodded in the darkness, and Will heard a hitch in her breathing as she cried. He felt the hollow feeling of her grief spread beneath his breastbone. He didn’t move his hand away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know, I'm sorry this is late. I've had this chapter mostly written for ages, but haven't had the time to finish it off. I've had essays to write and such like.
> 
> Anyhoo, hopefully this was a good chap? We get some Abigail which is nice, I like her.
> 
> (Also yeah, sorry.)

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone :)  
> So this is my first fanfic, and I don't really know what I'm doing.  
> I love all comments, feedback and even criticisms so don't be afraid to leave your thoughts.
> 
> This story will be fairly similar to the canon plot at the start, and then diverge somewhat.


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